Dance with the Devil
by LovinCopperpot
Summary: Carden is a girl, a slayer, who suddenly finds herself in need of help. Her watcher calls the Winchesters, and she's thrown into the middle of the war. Slight Buffy crossover - Dean/OC
1. Just How I Wanted to Spend my Summer

Carden Adair sighed as she made her way up the stairs of her apartment, her faithful hound Phantom trotting beside her, panting

I sighed as I made my way up the stairs to my apartment, my faithful hound Phantom trotting beside me, panting. "Aw, what boy," I teased as my dog yawned, "Getting old, there?" Of course, it wasn't very surprising that either of us should be tired – a five mile jog will do that to you.

But my brow furrowed as I saw my apartment door cracked open. "Uh, Kaya," I screamed uncertainly for my roommate as I pushed the door open fully, poking my head in to check left and right. Tommy's tail stiffened into a straight line, and I knew something was up.

"Kaya?" I was more scared this time as I looked around the kitchen/living room, glancing only briefly at Kaya's closed bedroom door. I jumped slightly at the sound of an angry upstairs neighbor stomping for me to be quiet before I leaned down slowly, observing the apartment one last time before I unhooked the leash attached to a very rigid Tommy.

"Track," I ordered, and Tommy's nose obediently fell to the floor, sniffing all around the apartment before the dog pushed his way into my bedroom. Of course, being a skinny dog, he didn't push it open enough for me to see what he was sniffing, but my dog's quiet bay before trotting back to me side confirmed my suspicions - whatever was here had come for me.

Ducking passed the view of the open door, I grabbed a knife from Kaya's stock of fine cutlery in our kitchen. _Screw the blood, I'm saving her life._ Flexing my knuckles around the black plastic that was the knife's handle, I bit her tongue and made my way towards my bedroom door.

I straightened against the wall, trying to discern some sound of movement in my bedroom. _What's this goddamn freak doing in my bedroom – floating on fucking air? _Tensing my muscles, I turned and pushed the door open fully, my eyes immediately falling on the intruder.

Yellow-gold eyes glared at me as the intruder stood next to my bed, almost daring me to throw the knife that I gripped in my hand. Of course, I threw the knife, and the man disappeared in a black puff of smoke, the knife sticking harmlessly into the wall.

I flinched at the sound it made as it stuck in, but grabbed the knife I kept on her dresser instead of retrieving Kaya's precious stainless-steel knife. Flipping the rigged pocket knife open, I glared around, letting Tommy push by me to smell where the intruder had been. He bayed as it stood next to the spot, and I relaxed, accepting that the demon had left.

Flipping my 'special' pocket knife closed, I found the timing ironically perfect that my cell phone should ring. I dug my phone out of my purse, which I'd left hanging on the door, and answered without looking.

"Hello?" "Carrie? It's James." "James," I was, to say the least, relieved to hear my watcher's voice, "Thank goodness." "Are you alright?" "Yeah," I took a deep gulp of relief, "Just, you know, came home and found someone in my bedroom."

"What?" "James, it's nothing, I'm sure." "Who was in your bedroom," James questioned, switching out of watcher and into protective father mode with an ease that would've worried his boss. "Some," I paused, trying to figure out what creature had been in my room, "Demon, I suppose."

"A demon in your bedroom? How do you know it was a demon?" "He disappeared," I sighed, falling backwards onto my bed, "But he wasn't like any demon I've ever seen." "Why?" "He had really intense yellow eyes."

"Azazel?!" Under normal circumstances, I would've laughed at my watcher's voice crack, but I couldn't seem to find humor in the situation, "Huh?" "Azazel was in your bedroom!?" "Who is Azazel," I questioned, groaning.

"The only demon documented with yellow eyes - a powerful demon that is known to have been killed not a few years ago." Again, James's voice cracked, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh at him. "You were sure he was dead?" "If he hadn't been dead, then we would've known. He was attempting the apocalypse when he was killed by a hunter." I rolled her eyes, "Well, if a _hunter_ could deal with him-"

"Carden, this is not a joke. Azazel is a serious demon with serious plans, and if he wants you then he will find a way to get you. He will kill everyone you love until you're so broken and angry that you'll do anything to either kill him or make it stop, both instances which will probably end in your untimely death!"

"Uh, James, a **hunter** killed him," I calmly pointed out, flexing my prejudice muscles, "How evil can he be?" "These weren't your run-of-the-mill, average, joke-hunters that you normally have to bound and gag to get your job done, Carden – these were the Winchester boys." "Ooh, scary," I replied sarcastically before narrating to my watcher, "I'm thirsty."

James sighed, obviously exasperated I hopped off the bed with the intent to get a soda, "Carden, I don't think you comprehend what kind of trouble you're in, Azazel wants hell on earth and has the mental capacity to do it, and him wanting anything to do with you is the equivalent of twenty black cats dancing under a ladder on glass from a mirror that they smashed!"

"I should've gotten the knife while I was coming to the kitchen," I replied thoughtfully, completely unaffected by his metaphor. "Are you even listening?! Your life now hangs in the-" "Yeah, yeah-" I plopped onto the couch and flicked at the top of my soda can, "Azazel wants me dead. Rawr rawr rawr." "It's a bit more serious than a mere roar, and what's worse is that he might not even want you dead, he may want y-!"

"James, why did you even call?" "You left your weapons bag at my house, and under the current circumstances I feel that you should return to retrieve them immediately." "Pull the stick out of your butt, I've got Brady." "I don't feel that your little pocket knife that your brother fiddled with will do much when the army of demons come for you."

"Drama queen." "Fine, I'll come drop them off, but then I'll need to see your cell phone before I go." "You know, you hurt Brady's feelings. You owe me wall putty." "Why on earth do you want wall putty?" "I threw a knife into the wall," I replied simply, as if James was stupid for not knowing. "Oh, dear lord."

I laughed at my watcher as he hung up the phone, and I flipped my cell phone shut. I groaned, "Now I've got to get the knife out of the wall." _I've jogged a total of ten miles and did a two hour intensive work-out, and now I've got to pull my knife out of the wall. Stupid Azazel, couldn't come before the work-out, could he? No, consideration of others is too much to ask from hell-on-earth bent psycho-demons._

"Tommy, pull the knife out of the wall," I called hopefully, only to have Tommy hobble towards me and look at me with large, wishful eyes. I groaned, "You want food, don't you." It wasn't a question at all, but an accusation.

His unblinking eyes answered my question, and I pushed myself off the couch, "Great, now I've got to pull the knife out of the wall and feed my dog. Damn Plott Hounds, eating all my dog food."

By the time I'd managed to wrench the knife out of the wall, which was considerably harder than normal because I was on my slayer-adrenaline-rush when I threw the knife, and feeding Phantom, James was banging on my door, ranting about how if I don't open up he'll consider me attacked and break down my door, and refuse to pay later.

"I'm coming, sans Azunteicht." "Azazel, the demon who wants you dead is named Azazel," James cried as I opened the door for him. I smirked as I caught my bag of weapons from him, "I thought it wasn't certain he wanted me dead. He may want to use me to bear his demon spawn." "Oh, Lord forbid," James fell onto the couch in an almost swoon-like-manner.

"My cell phone is on the coffee table," I reported to my watcher, "What do you need it for, anyway?" "I wanted to speak with your Aunt Ellen." I poked my head out of my bedroom, where I'd retreated to hide away my stash of weapons, "And why in the world would you want that?"

"I called the headmaster on my way over and talked to her about the situation-" I groaned, "Why would you ever bring the school into this?" "I work for the school, you know," James replied smartly, looking down at me as I cuddled into one of the lounge chairs, grabbing my half-drunken soda off the table, "Well, what did they say?"

"They agree that you being the target of a demon attack is nothing good-" "It wasn't an attack," I protested, "He didn't even touch me!" "Yes, well, the target of a demon _stalking,_ then-" "It's not stalking - he was in my bedroom!" "That qualifies as stalking, now will you let me finish?"

I pouted before downing the last of my soda and listening to James in his pompous British accent, "The headmaster and I agreed that you aren't to be left alone." "Well, that's just fine - I'll move in with you the last month of school - it'll save me rent." "No, no, Carden, you aren't understanding me, you're not to be left alone... at all."

I was quiet as I listened to my watcher expand, "We're going to have to find your protection for the summer." "What do you mean protection," I questioned, "I'm going on the vacation with Landon this summer - he and I have been saving for the past year for this vacation; it's the last possible bit of childhood I can enjoy before I have to go to graduate school and get a job and everything. I mean, you guys can't want me to have protection for that."

"Not only protection," James sighed, letting his eyes fall and making my stomach knot, "But the headmaster and I agree that you shouldn't leave the possible reach of our slayers." I paused, sure that whatever I was hearing I was hearing it wrong, "What?"

"You can't go to Italy with Landon, Carden." I gulped passed the knot, which was making it's way up my stomach to my throat, "That doesn't even make sense." "Carde-" "James, I'll be out of the country. You really think that the demon will be able to find me when I'm a fucking **ocean** away?!"

"Carden, ple-" "James, this is ridiculous! You've put me through training more intense than our own army; I'm legally certified at removing impaled objects; I'm more well-versed and capable at martial arts than Jackie fucking Chan, and I can't go to Italy for the summer because a demon wants to use me to end the world?!"

"Ca-" "Demons have **always **tried to use Slayers to end the world. It's, like, the job description of a slayer to NOT be used to bring about the destruction of the world. And I can't spend a summer with my boyfriend in a place where the odds of this demon finding me are one in a million?!"

"Carden, this isn't just a demon or a vampire or a ghost. This is one of the most well-known, most dangerous demons that has ever escaped the clutches of hell, and not only has he done it once but now he's managed to do it twice, after dying! No one person can face this demon alone." "James, a _hunter_ could kill him." The knot turned into the infamous golf-ball as it lodged itself in my throat, and I felt my eyes start to well.

"And that is why I need your Aunt Ellen - if anyone can get us into contact with the Winchesters, it's your Aunt. And if they won't take you, then we'll have no choice - we'll _have_ to send you to Italy to get away from the demon." "And if they do accept, if they do take the job?" I was trying to suppress the crying. "Then you'll spend the summer with them and then move in with me for the duration of your graduate schooling."

I held my breath, trying to process the sudden flow of information. Not ten minutes ago I was teasing James for thinking the demon was such a big deal - now I've got the boss telling me it was break the plans my boyfriend and I have had our hearts set on since the beginning of the year or get fired and probably die because of this stupid demon.

"I hate my job."


	2. Convincing a Man on Death Row

Dean sighed as he sat on the bed, his feet placed firmly on the ground as Sam hit a few keys on his computer. The older brother could feel himself growing frustrated with his overly-cautious sibling and the tireless search for evidence, "Well, what can you find?"

Sam sighed in response to his brother as he shut his laptop, "Nothing. Not a single religious tale or urban legend or strange sighting about any slayer, other than a few crack-pot crazy-butcher stories. Nothing on the internet or in Dad's journal."

Relieved at the end of the search, Dean stood, "Great, I'll call El-" "Dean," Sam cut off, "Hold on." "Why?" Dean questioned, digging his short fingernails into his overly-rough hands at his brother's protest.

"The story is bullshit, Sammy. Some demon is probably playing some trick. Why don't we just call Ellen and tell her to get out of town?" "Just because I couldn't find anything doesn't mean the story isn't true," Sam pointed out.

"What're you talking about, Sam? Of course it does!" Dean's brow furrowed harshly, "There's no such thing as a slayer!" "If anything," Sam contradicted, "A lack of legend makes the story more likely to be true."

"What do you mean," Dean questioned, annoyed. "There isn't any basis for them to make anything up," Sam insisted, "These people would've had to develop the story all on their own - come up with all the details, the names, everything!"

"So? Not the first time the demon's tried to-" "Dean! This is Ellen, Ellen's family - after all we've been through with her, can you really think that she'd not notice something was up?" "Exactly, this is Ellen's family. Don't you think Ellen's husband would've known?"

Sam's eyes lit up at the argument, already seeing where this was going, "De-" "And if Ellen's husband would've known, don't you think it's likely that he mentioned it to SOMEONE? He was a HUNTER, for God's sake. Dad probably looked through the guy's journal after he died and would've written SOMETHING about it!"

"Maybe he didn't! Maybe the guy didn't keep a journal - we didn't know him." "Sammy, we're not doing it." "Maybe Ellen didn't even tell her husband, huh? It's obviously a well kept secret, if no one's ever written or heard about it."

"How do we even know this-" Dean glanced down at the paper, "-Carden Adair even exists?!" "Hold on, did you say Adair?" Dean's brow furrowed again, this time in confusion, "Sam, you knew her name, you're the one who took the messa-"

"I know, and it sounded familiar, but I just couldn't figure out why, but there was an Adair in one of my classes. Uh, she was in," Sam dug his memory, desperate to prove the girl's existence, "Vermont! Veronica Adair, Addison Vermont."

Dean sighed as he glanced at the note in his hand, dismayed to see that the cities matched, "You just memorized it." "No, really - it was when I was, oh God, maybe sixteen. I remember Ronnie - she had a little sister who went to private school! It all fits!"

"Sam, stop it, we're not picking up some girl and toting her around for the rest of the summer just because Ellen asked nicely, we don't have any ti-" Dean's cell phone rang, and he snapped it open, "What?"

He'd figured it was Ellen, which was why it was so surprising that a slightly squeaky and accented voice replied, "Oh, um, is this Dean Winchester?" Dean glanced at the caller ID, confused, "Who is this?"

"I'm James Roscow, Carrie's watcher. I was wondering if I could speak with you about her stay with yo-" "It's not happening," Dean said curtly, giving Sam a final glare before making his way toward the window for better reception, "We just can't risk it. We're... financially unstable."

"Of course, there would be a salary for her protection." Dean froze in his pace along the window line, "What?" "Well, of course the Council would pay you. Our slayers are very important to us, Dean. We're willing to pay to ensure their safety, and we're told you're the best."

Rubbing at his forehead, Dean thought of his last few poker nights. He was running out of chumps, and the more places they went the more people were likely to recognize him. Money was hard to come by, and Dean couldn't risk to not take the bait, "How much?"

Sam's own brow furrowed as he tried to ask Dean the ever obvious question of, 'what is going on' as Dean concentrated on the phone conversation, "Well, the living expenses of taking care of Carden, plus an extra two thousand, every three weeks. Maybe more, we haven't finalized the financial aspect of it, yet."

Scratching his head, Dean flinched at the amount of money - money they couldn't pass up, "Tell your girl that we'll pick her up next week sometime." With that, Dean hung up the phone, not giving Brit-boy a chance to say something Dean would regret.

Sam's jaw dropped, "What?" "Yeah, keep your pants on, Sparky." "What'd he say to get you to change your mind?" Sam followed Dean to the bed, and Dean groaned, "He offered us money." "How much?" "Two grand plus living expenses for the girl."

"What?!" "Shh," Dean scolded at his brother, looking up from the bed as Sam sat across the room from him, on his own queen. "I know, it's a lot. That's why we had to take the job." Dean eyed his brother suspiciously, "Why do you want this girl around so much, anyway?"

Sam shrugged, "We've never heard of a slayer, before. Could get interesting." Dean laughed, "Sam's sick of the lesbian porn and wants actual sex - how cute." Sam blushed a little, obviously not because Dean had hit the nail on any sort of head but because Sam was embarrassed about the porn, "No."

Dean closed his eyes, then, switching off his light, "Well, make friends with her. This girl's going to have to be like a business engagement. It's only for the summer, and if she gets upset and calls her little council and they cut our pay-" "Dean, I know. You're the ladies' man between us."

Laughing, Dean felt himself slowly slipping into unconsciousness, "What can I say? Comes with the dashing good looks."

* * *

I sighed into the phone, "This is ridiculous, James, I _don't_ need a babysitter!" "Don't think of them as babysitters," James offered, "More like body guards." I groaned, "James, I was put through a training three times more intensive than the training program for Special Ops, and I need bodyguards!?"

"We don't know anything about this demon," James defended, "And they're the best in the business." "Yeah, the business of crazy people who try to do my job! Hasn't it occurred to anyone that no one in their right mind would choose to do this with their life?"

At that moment, of course, my phone vibrated in my hand, "James, I'm getting another call, so I have to-" "They're names are Dean and Sam Winchester. They should be there sometime this wee-" "I know! Goodbye!"

I hit the green button on my phone, replacing it snuggly against my other ear, "What?" "Carrie," Landon questioned, "You okay? What's wrong?" I sighed at the sound of my boyfriend's concerned voice.

"Nothing, nothing," I said, falling against my bed and letting my muscles, tense from the fight, relax. "No, no, you're snappy. What's wrong?" "Uh, Landon, you know that... job I have?" "What job?" "The one that takes me all kinds of places at strange times." "Oh, that one..."

"Yeah, that one," I said, using the same disappointed voice as his had. "How long?" "All summer," I replied, "At the least." "What?!" "Landon," I begged, knowing just what he was thinking.

"I thought you were gonna go on vacation with me and my family. Italy, Rome, you were going to attempt to remember everything you learned in eighth grade history!" "I know, but I've got to do thi-"

"Your job has never taken you THAT LONG before. Besides, I thought you said you get off in the summer!" "I usually do! But this is a... special circumstance." "Why?" "You know I can't tell you." "Damn it, Carrie!"

I flinched at his anger, feeling tears well up I my eyes. Oh God, I hate my job. I don't know why the fuck I had to be born with this 'gift,' but I wish to God it wasn't me.

"What's so goddamn secretive about this job, huh? Why can't you tell me anything about it? Why do you go away for weeks at a time and come back with all these bruises all over you? I'm SICK of not knowing!"

"You know that I just can't tell you," I cried back, "Why can't you understand?" "I've understood for the past two years, Carrie," Landon protested, "You should be able to tell me anything!" "I, just... I just can't."

"Goodbye, Carden," Landon said, using my full name. I gritted my teeth in anger, but held back as I pleaded with my boyfriend, "No, Lando-" But I was cut off by the line going dead. Landon hung up, and I know what that means.

Digging my nails into my palm, I felt my annoyance at Landon and my anger at my fate pulsing through my veins, creating a strange but not foreign 'slayer adrenaline.' See, as a slayer I feel like I'm on a normal-person adrenaline rush all the time, so I've got to have some special uber-adrenaline. It comes in special moments, like on a hunt or during a fight.

And if I don't get it out right now, I'm gonna start twitching like a mad woman on coke. That being decided, I stood, "Tommy, let's go!" I heard the jingling of tags as my dog trotted into my room, cocking his head to the side as he saw me reach for his leash.

"I know we've already gone for our run," I said, "But we're gonna go do some training at James's." Phantom whined, recognizing the name as I clipped on his leash and shoved my ear buds into my ear. Three Days Grace, the angriest music I can stand, was switched to on my iPod, and I was off.


	3. Meeting the Winchesters

I sighed as I sat in my kitchen, watching my mother and sister cook dinner and checking the window for the arrival of the Winchesters every thirteen seconds. Yes, thirteen, I'm counting, because ten is too often and my neck will cramp, but I'm too impatient for fifteen.

"Tell me about these boys again," I requested of my mother, causing her to roll her eyes. "If you want to know so much about them, why don't you call your Aunt Ellen?" "Tried, she isn't picking up."

My sister sighed, reciting our mother's speech in an eerily nagging tone of voice, "Their names are Dean and Sam. They're hunters. They've helped out your Aunt Ellen-" "What more do you need to know," I joined in for the last part, giggling with my sister.

"I still don't get what else you need to know!" our mother exclaimed, and my sister and I laughed at her again as the younger triplets ran through. "It isn't need-to-know, mom," my sister explained, "So much as really-should-know." "There's no difference," my mother insisted flippantly.

My mother is a lot like Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice - obsessed with getting her daughters married and unconcerned with everything that she can't see as ever benefitting her. I actually admire her for it - sure, those qualities aren't the most admirable, but she displays them so proudly you'd thing that being boy-crazy at fifty-two was the thing to be. Kind of like that commercial where the two guys have ED. Though it does make it a little odd that she didn't interrogate Ellen further about the Winchester boys.

"Mom, Jared pushed me," Josh, the triplet standing in the middle, complained. "Of course he'd push you," Justin pointed out, "We're playing War." "I don't care what you're playing," my mother claimed, "No rough housing in the house. Take it outside, and watch the mud."

I smiled as the younger triplets stomped out of the house and into the yard to play. The younger triplets were so similar, it amazed me, especially after the first triplets.

Yeah, you read that right, we've got _two_ triplets. Me and Veronica have six brothers from two births, making us not only the only girls, but the only single births. Crazy, huh?

The younger twins are exactly alike - from the black/brown hair on the top of their heads to the size of their eight year old feet. Josh, Justin, and Jared were also the only ones to not know about my special 'talents.' We're waiting for the right time to tell them that their big sissy kills the monsters under the bed.

The older triplets, though, are nothing alike. Andrew has blonde hair, the only other one in my family besides me and my dad; he must be nearing six foot six, and enjoys sports in his spare time, mostly wrestling and soccer. Allan has light brown hair and is the partier of the family, leaving Ackley to write music and poetry while hiding out mostly in the boys' shared bedroom.

"So," my mother questioned overdramatically, "What is it you should know?" "Are they cute," Ronnie questioned, mock-girlish. I rolled my eyes, "Veronica!" "Don't whine at me - it's a valid question now that you and Landon have broken up." "We haven't broken up," I protested, "We're on a break."

"Mmhmm," Ronnie replied, rolling her eyes at my foolishness the same way I'd rolled my eyes at hers. "Don't tease your sister," My mother said, not even realizing that she was scolding her engaged twenty-five year old. Yes, engaged is an important part of that sentence. Remember how Lydia became the favorite of Mrs. Bennet when _she_ got married? It's the same thing.

Out of nowhere, I heard Tommy start to howl and bay, like he'd found a demon. I stiffened until Allan came running into the kitchen, my puppy right on his tail and nipping at his heels. "I'm telling you, Carrie, your dog wants me dead!" Allan jumped into the middle of our island, drawing his knees to his chin.

I laughed at the oldest (by seven minutes) brother as I pulled one of Tom's toys out of Allan's back pockets, "How did you ever graduate high school?" "Blackmail," my brother replied in a scary serious voice, "... and bribes." Tommy barked at the toy in my hand, and I rolled my eyes as Allan nearly fell off the island.

Ironically enough, Allan and I both inherited our jumpiness from the Mrs. Bennet of the house, aka Mom. It was a bitch to train out of me - I nearly drove James crazy. Looking back, though, I can't believe that I... flailed like he does. I mean, I know that I did, but still.

"Why don't you take him for a walk, sweetie?" "I would, but he pulls at the leash." "Oh," my mother eyed Tommy, whom she'd never liked, "All the exercise you two get, I'd think Phantom was perfect with his leash." "Oh, you meant take **Tommy** for a walk! I thought we were talking about Allan."

Ronnie and I giggled at my joke as Drew walked in, and I smiled at him, "Hey Drewy, where've you been?" "Summer camp - those kids will be the death of me." "Aw, is our wittle Dwewy in pain?" Allan pinched his triplet's cheek, earning an annoyed and disgusted glare, "Cut it out and get me Tylenol."

"Hey Drew," I put on my cute voice as Drew swallowed the Tylenol our mother gave him and gulped a glass of water, "How much would a jog help your headache?" Andrew looked down at me from the corner of his eyes, and I pouted, "Last one until Thanksgiving." Sighing, Drew put down the glass, "A short one. Twenty minutes."

I squealed happily at my very-tolerant brother; Drewy and I have always been the closest. Sure, Ronnie and I were both girls and had shared the older-sister role, but most of our bonding years I'd spent in Slayer-School, and Ronnie spent most of her college-bound years at college, taking extra classes. Her work-ethic is freakish.

So summers I was left with a moody Ackely, an already blooming socialite Allan, and Drewy, who was still trying desperately to find his niche. Jogging with me was first a way out of the house, and then our brother-sister time. Now I, ironically, crave it more than he needs it, especially since he's going to college.

"You coming," Drewy teased me as he stretched by the back door. "Let me get the puppy." I rolled my eyes at his teasing, whistling for Tommy, who had disappeared with his toy. "You planning on spending the entire twenty minutes on prep? Let's get going!" "You are an impatient son of a bitch." "Hey," my mother protested, and I laughed, "Point proven. Be back in twenty!"

* * *

"I still can't believe we're taking on some teenage girl for the rest of the summer. We're in a war, Sam," Dean tightened his knuckles around the steering wheel as he navigated the streets of Addison, Vermont. "Hey, you're the one who said yes," Sam replied, smirking at his brother's annoyance, "Besides, she might help."

"How could she help? She has no idea what's going on and she's twenty freaking one!" "And she's been trained as long as we have," Sam pointed out, "Literally. This kind of stuff is in her blood, Dean." "Yeah, her and eighty other girls who get themselves killed."

"If you hate the idea so much why'd you agree to take her in?" "We need the money, Sam, you know that. Just can't believe I'm spending the last three months of my life with some squeaky little teenager." "Dean," Sam scolded sadly. For a moment, the brothers were silent before Dean whistled at a girl crossing the street in front of them, "Now, if we were taking on _that_ girl, things would be different."

Stopping at the intersection, Dean gazed at the jogging girl before noticing the boy accompanying her. Rolling his eyes, he drove on, "How far away are we, Sammy?" "Her street should be the first one on the left, and then she's the fourth house, according to Ellen."

Dean followed the instructions, and soon they'd pulled up to a modest split-level house with large windows and tan siding. Standing and stretching after the long car ride, Sam admired the house, and Dean thought about Ben and Lisa back in Indiana. _I should go and see them before..._ Dean's thoughts paused as a woman leaned out the back door of the house, "You guys the Winchesters?"

Sam raised his hand in greeting, "Sam." Dean repeated his brother's actions, "Dean." _Well, if this is the girl, then..._ "Carrie just went out to take a jog with our brother. Come on in, dinner is in a half an hour." Sam and Dean shared a look before shrugging and making their way to the house.

* * *

"You'll be careful, right Carrie?" My brow furrowed as I looked up at my older brother, "What do you mean, Andrew?" We were walking the last block before we got back to the house, where hopefully the Winchesters have arrived. "You know as well as I do that things have been going haywire lately." "Drewy-"

"Don't try to deny it," Andrew swallowed, "I know the signs of demonic stuff - you've been going on more missions lately, I'm not stupid Carrie." I let my eyes fall to a very carefree Tommy, "I know." "And these guys, I don't know about them. They aren't like you, I know that much. No guys are like you. I don't like you going with them at all, but I've got no choice, so just be careful. Anyone who chooses to do what you do..."

"I know, Drewy. Trust me, if I had my way I'd be halfway to Venice by now." The next few steps were silence, but as we came to the house, Drew grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into a hug, nearly pulling me off the ground, "God, I'm scared for you."

I clutched to my brother before pulling away from him and landing back on solid ground, "Drew, you look at me. You've got to be careful too. Whatever this demon wants, if he can't get me he'll come after you guys. I need you to watch out for everyone. You know the signs, keep an eye for them. You've got to protect the family, now."

Andrew's eyes fell, but I knew he understood. With a final hug, Andrew then gave me the ceremonious piggy-back ride back into the house, where I noticed a very different sort of car in the driveway. Andrew gave a low whistle, running his hand along it, but I was captivated by the smell of mom's cooking - she was making the best for my going away.

"Hurry up, I'm hungry," I whined at my younger brother, and he laughed. Phantom pushed his way into the house, and Drewy quickly pushed the door open behind my puppy, who immediately put his nose to the tile and started sniffing around the kitchen.

"Oh, honey, you're back. You've got visitors in the living room." "Visitors," I questioned with mixed sarcasm and anger, "Or body guards?" I grabbed a bite of the food mom had started to prepare, and she brow-beat my comment, "Carrie!" I rolled my eyes, "What?"

I turned to follow my brother to lean in the doorway to my living room, and tucked myself under his arm as we both observed the two boys, one of whom had made himself quite comfortable while the other looked slightly awkward. The slightly awkward one stood when he saw me, reaching out his hand, "Are you Carden?"

I leaned forward to shake his hand, "Call me Carrie." "Sam," he introduced himself, "And my brother, Dean." Dean raised his beer at me before turning his attention to whatever game was on the television. "He's chatty," I commented, and Sam smiled apologetically. _Well, Sam's cute. I like him._

"So, what, you guys want to pack the car now so we can just leave right after dinner?" _Say no._ "Uh, sure, if that's what you want." My stomach dropped out, and I knew that I couldn't say that wasn't what I wanted when I had very blatantly been the one suggesting it.

"Uh, yeah, Andrew, can you come help me get my stuff?" "Sure," Andrew said very coldly, giving Dean a glare that wasn't really registered by anyone except me and Sam. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my brother's arm and led him up the half staircase to my room.

"Well," I questioned as I closed the door, smiling jokingly at my brother, "Do they get your approval?" "You can take 'em," Andrew replied, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, "Well, duh! Grab my clothing bag, will ya? I've got to get the weapons and the dog-stuff."

Andrew paused halfway out the door, "Do they know you're bringing a dog?" I shrugged, "Will they care?" "That was a pretty cool car out there, in pretty decent shape." "Drew," I pointed out, "There were so many beer cans and fast food trash wrappers in the back that I'm surprised there aren't vermin living in it. If anything, a dog is an upgrade."


	4. I'm Functioning

Dean glanced up at me as I led my brother into the living room, "Well, someone is ready for a three-month vacation." "This stuff is all necessary," I pointed out, "A bag of weapons, a bag of clothing, and a bag of dog stuff." Dean straightened, tearing his eyes away from the TV for more than a glance, "What did you just say?"

I paused midway through putting down my bags at the front door, "That... I have one bag for each essential area of my life?" "Yeah, and what was that last essential area?" "My essential traveling buddy Phantom the dog," I replied, wondering if I should be using smaller words.

"Oh, no, that dog is _not_ coming with us." How can I put this nicely? "Yes he is." Trust me, that's nice when it comes to Phantom. I wanted to say, _Yes he is, scumface._ "No he's not - how do you plan on toting around a dog for the entire summer?" "Lots of air conditioning and we don't leave him alone in the car without leaving a window open." "Exactly, so what are we going to do at nights?"

_I really should be using smaller words._ "We're going to not have him in the car." "Where else could we put him?" _**Really**__ small words._ "In the motel room, with us?" "Oh, no, I am not spending the entire summer with that little-"

"Guys," Allan leaned in from the kitchen - despite all the wild partying he does, he hates cursing very much, especially about Phantom. He claims that's because a) no one else has the right to complain about the dog after the way the dog treats him and b) no one should ever dignify the dog's actions with curses - it gives them more power. My theory is that Allan loves the love-hate relationship he has with Phantom.

His distraction, though, was very effective, "Dinner's ready."

* * *

I sighed as I followed Andrew to the car, taking in the sights of the house for the last time until who knows when. Not like I'm going to miss the house too much, in comparison to other things, but still - this house is my home, and I miss with when I'm not here... that was the most idiotic thought of my entire life, but do you get my meaning?

Following my brother, who was in turn following Dean, towards 'the baby,' I heard a familiar Australian accent call my attention, "Carrie?" I turned quickly, surprised to see my visitor, "Landon." "Carrie, what's all this, then?" He motioned towards the boys and baby as he made his way up the drive.

"Landon," I all but begged, following his train of thought, "Let me explain." "This is your job? This is what is taking you way for the summer? Two half-ass looking boys and a beat-up Chevy?" "Hey," Dean defended, patting his car's trunk. "This isn't my job," I cried at him, "This is protection!" "Protection from what?!"

I bit my lip, causing Landon to scream in frustration at me, "For heaven's sake, Carrie! Can you even tell me who these two boys are?" _Yes!_ "They're-" I was caught off guard by Sam and Dean's violent disapproval, but sighed in defeat. I couldn't save my relationship with Landon, at this point, with anything short of strong, old magic.

"I really can't believe you, Carrie. Two years, you're throwing two years down the pipe, and for what? Some summer-term, witness-protection deal." Landon grabbed my arms, dropping the flowers he had brought, supposedly, for me, "You could be protected in Italy. Who could find you there?"

"I tried to tell my boss that, Landon, bu-" "Oh, your boss, the boss who sends you to be **abused?"** My jaw dropped at his accusation of James, "He does not send me to be abused!" "Then why are you always bloodied up whe-" Andrew finally stepped out of the line of appalled family members to defend me, "Landon, I think you'd better leave, now."

At a mere five foot nine, Landon was in no position to argue with my brother, and could only shout one last thing at me before driving away: "We're over, Carrie! We're really over! You'll never get me back!"

As my eternally-ex-boyfriend drove away, I fell into my brother, "Thanks." He wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in the hug, "Anytime. Really." I was able to will myself not to cry at the sound of his joke, and slightly for fear of the impression on my bodyguards. I don't even want to know what they'll think of me now - first I'm a slayer who can't defend myself, and now I'm a girl with a social life that functions like a clogged toilet.

It took me a minute to feel like I could face the goodbyes of my family. I went down the line they'd formed, starting with Dad and ending with the J-triplets, who thought I was going to work in Texas this summer. Everyone had some piece of advice, from, "Bring me back souvenirs," to "Don't forget to call every night to, "If you go for either of them, go for Sam."

Yeah, my mom is really the definition of supportive.

"Ready," Sam questioned as I departed from my family and made my way to the car. Tommy sat next to him, giving Dean the evil eye and the occasional growl. "Ready," I sighed, to which Dean added, "I can't believe I'm letting this crazy mutt in my car." "Phantom is not a mutt," I protested, "He happens to be a pure-bread Plott hound." "Aren't Plott hounds mutts?"

I gave Dean a wry smile as I pushed Phantom into the backseat ahead of me, "Ha ha." "What," Dean questioned, obviously joking, "That was a serious question!" _This is going to be the longest summer of my life._

"Don't underestimate him," Sam advised as Dean turned on the car, the engine purring to life, "One day, those dumb questions will be serious." "Oh, come on, I'm plenty smart," Dean defended, "Go on, ask me anything." "What is Newton's first law of physics?" "That all Newtons should be figs." Sam and I were quiet. "Oh, come on, that was funny!" "Answer the question, Dean." "Shut up."

* * *

Three more hours of driving and I was sure that Dean planned to drive through the night until, "Well, what do you think, Sammy - Motel 6 sounds fancy, or should we do a local place?" Sam didn't answer, unless you count a snore and a whimper as answering. "Looks like it's just you and me then, Carden." "It's Carrie," I interjected, "And I don't care, so long as I spend the night somewhere besides this damn car."

"Grumpy," Dean commented, and I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, yeah, 'where are Dopey and Doc?'" Dean glanced at me oddly in the rearview mirror, "Who?" I actually didn't know what to say as Dean pulled off the interstate, "Dopey? Doc? You know, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?" "A girl and seven midgets? Damn girl, whatever you're watching, it is kinky stuff." "Are you serious?"

"No more Yorkies," Sam cried, freaking out in the front seat as he was jolted awake. Dean took one look at his brother again and started to laugh, "Dude, what is it with you and small dogs?!" "I am not scared of small dogs," Sam insisted, and it registered in my brain that they'd had this conversation before. I zoned out.

I zoned out so hardcore, in fact, that I didn't realize we'd arrived at the motel until Dean knocked on the window. "Room 206, let's get the mutt in first."

Getting Tommy into the motel was... interesting. Dean walked in front, key in hand and ready to open the door as soon as we got there, leaving Sam and I to walk on either side of my puppy until we were safely inside the room.

It was, of course, at this most inopportune moment that I realized, and accordingly announced, the fact that, "Tom hasn't peed in almost five hours." Dean and Sam looked at each other, Dean's jaw tightening noticeably, as if to communicate to Sam, _See? Next time, when I say no dog, back me up!_ "We're not taking that dog outside."

"Why not," I challenged, my lips pursed at Dean's statement. "Because we just got him in! We can't risk getting caught - this is the only motel open!" "Well, that's not my problem, Mr. Drive-all-freaking-night! Where do you want him to pee, the toilet?" "Yes, go with him to the bathroom, and don't come out 'til I say so!"

"Wha-" Dean pushed me and my puppy to the bathroom as I heard a knocking on the door. "Stay," he hissed, and I'm not quite sure whether he was talking to me or to Phantom.

I sighed, looking around the bathroom in hopes for some miracle pee-spot. Of course, the only thing here is the toilet and the shower. _Well, he put me in here..._ "Phantom," I whispered, "Time to do your business." Yeah, I get my dog to go to the bathroom by telling him it's 'time to do his business.' That's the command they trained him with.

Phantom gave me a desperate look as I lead him to the shower stall, "I know, bud, just go with me on this. Time to do your business." I flinched at the loud, forceful sound of my dog 'doing his business,' hoping Sam was bright enough to come up with a lie to cover this up. I have no faith in Dean.

Sighing, I laid my hand on Phantom's head and lead him out of the shower, "Good boy. Sit." Tommy sat patiently as I turned on the hot water in the shower using the Motel 6 brand soap to scrub away the bulk of the pee stains. I didn't realize the coast was clear until Sam was over me, "What're you doing?" I smiled nervously up at him, "Phantom peed in the shower."

"Oh, gross," Sam wrinkled his nose, "Dean gets first shower tomorrow morning." Sam was halfway out the door before he delivered the message, "Your cot is here!" My brow furrowed, _Cot? What do we need- uh oh._ "No way," I declared, turning off the shower to make sure my message heard.

"What," Dean questioned as I stormed into the motel room, obviously not in any mood to deal with my whining. _Too bad. You can give in and make this quick._ "I am not sharing a room with you guys!" "Yes you are," the ever-intelligent ass started before throwing his stuff onto the foot of the bed he'd obviously decided was his.

"No, I need my privacy, you know." "For what? All the secrets you'll be sharing with your mutt?" "He is not a mutt, and I need my privacy because I spend all day in a dirty car with you, singing your classic rock like one of those fool contestants on American Idol that everyone keeps around to laugh at, and I can't stand that!"

"We were in the car for **four** hours!" "And for another ten tomorrow! That is over twenty-four hours of you non-stop, and I'll explode!" "Like a blowfish?" Unsure of whether Dean thought it was a valid comparison or if he just wanted to piss me off, I stormed out of the room and into the open, outside hallway for some air.

Sam was just making his way up the stairs, holding both of our bags, and he smiled bracingly when he saw me, "You're not getting your own room?" "How does someone get to be the way he is," I retorted, "I mean, I know I'm being pretty bitchy, but I don't want to be here! No offense."

Sam shrugged it off, leaning his back against the railing and being very... understanding, "Where would you be right now if we hadn't taken you?" "Hiding out in Italy with my boyfriend," I replied. "The guy we saw at the house?" "Yeah, I told him I was going on another job." "He knows what you do?"

"No," I smirked at the thought, "He probably thinks I'm an assassin or something - I go for weeks at a time, I come back all beat-up, I can't ever tell him anything-"

Suddenly, the door to hotel room opened, and Dean stuck his head out, checking either end of the hallway before hissing at us, "Sammy, get in here! You know we can't be seen!" Sam sighed, grabbing our bags and slipping inside, passed his brother. "You too, your dog's been giving me the stink eye." "My dog is an excellent judge of character," I retorted at him.

I continued to smirk as I sat on the edge of the bed where Dean had put his stuff, decidedly my bed. "Hey, princess," Dean had gone to the bathroom and was brushing his teeth when he noticed, but was surprisingly discernable, "Get your ass off my bed." I patted the foot of the bed, "Bedtime, Phantom."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean rolled his eyes before retreating again to the bathroom to spit. He returned, "Off." Phantom looked at me at the sound of one of his many commands, but I just patted his head, "No." "Why not?" "Phantom sleeps with me, and there's no room on the cot."

Dean sighed, "You mean to tell me that that you brought that huge bag of doggy-shit and there isn't a bed?" "That bag of doggy-shit, as you so elegantly put it, happens to be padding and food for him." "Padding would be bedding!" "No, padding for armor. You don't think I'd send him on a mission unprotected, do you? That's inhumane!"

I smiled, feeling assured of my victory, "Night." I dove under the covers, only to be nagged by Dean's deep, grating voice, "Not gonna brush your teeth?" _Not gonna give you the chance to steal the bed._ "I would prefer to kill you with morning breath."

There was a moment of silence, enforcing the victory in my mind. It was then that I felt the strong arms attempt to wrap around me and pick me up. I say attempt because Tommy didn't like the idea, and growled quite menacingly. "Oh, come on," Dean protested, "You're still in jeans! How can you plan on sleeping?" Smirking, I shimmied out of my jeans, pulling them off completely and throwing them in the direction of the cot, "Goodnight, Dean."


	5. Feeling This

Hey guys, my first memo, and I'm kind of excited because I can't help but tell you all how cool you are for leaving reviews.

And also, make it clear how depressed I was at the Season Finale on Thursday. I sat there for ten minutes just continuing to say, "He's DEAD!" I mean, they could clear up Sam's dying and all before the season finale, but not Dean's? **Come on!**

My cell phone ringing in my ear was the first thing I heard, acting as a very obnoxious alarm clock. I sighed as I checked the time via motel clock, _6:53._ I picked up my phone, standing to take the call outside and not disturb my roomies.

The morning air was cool on my bare legs as the motel door clicked closed behind me, "Hello?" "Carden, were you asleep," James questioned, his tone of voice leaving me to panic for a lie, "Uh, of course not." "You know you're on a very strict training schedule. You should've been up and jogging a half an hour ago." "Of course, duh," I said, attempting to run my hand nervously through my knotted bed head.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?" James called it, and I sighed, "Not a clue." "Check the scheduler in your phone," James offered, and I shivered from cold. Looking down, it was then I realized that I didn't have any pants on.

"Uh, James, can we talk about this later? I am currently without pants, standing outside the motel room. I'll look over the schedule and talk with you about it in four days, okay?" "Why four days," James questioned. "Cause that's when we'll get there," I responded, knocking on the door for the boys to let me in.

"What?" "Oh, didn't I tell you?" I bit my lip nervously, "Dean doesn't want Tommy, so you get him for the summer." "You did not tell me," James replied, "But yes, you're lucky that I can take Tommy for the summer." I rolled my eyes, "You were supposed to take him for the summer anyway - while I was in Italy, remember?" "Well, I could have made plans when I realized you weren't going." "Of course you could've James."

It was then that I hung up on my 'social' watcher, knocking again for the boys to get up and let me in. _They must be goddamn heavy sleepers,_ I thought bitterly as I knocked louder.

The door opened suddenly to reveal a very confused Dean, "Carden?" I was too excited for sleep to correct him. I slipped passed him into the motel room, welcoming the privacy, rug, and general lack-of-breeze. "You have no pants on," Dean mumbled, and I rolled my eyes as I slipped under my covers, "I threw them at you last night, remember?"

Dean mumbled something incoherent before making his way to the bathroom, slamming the door. The shower turned on after a few moments later, and I smirked as I remembered Sam's comment about Dean getting the first shower.

* * *

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Dean greeted Sam and I as he walked out, clad in only a towel and very visible boxers. He walked very loudly to the bedside table between Sam and I, turning on the radio. Sam bolted awake audibly and I could feel Tom stretching at my feet, but I refused to open my eyes.

ACDC seemed to be Dean's choice of poison, and that's what we listened to as we got ready that morning, once I bothered to open my eyes. With the royal Dean's permission, I walked Tommy outside to pee. After all - "What's the worst they could do? Kick us out?"

"So, what's for breakfast," I questioned as Dean and Sam joined me in the car. "Whatever you want," Dean replied as he slipped into the driver's seat. _What? Am I getting the pick for breakfast, or is Dean being sarcastic?_ "Diner food," Sam explained before joining his brother in the car.

_Oh, that makes sense,_ I thought urging Phantom into the backseat and joining my puppy, before Dean thought that it would be funny to leave me behind.

The ride to the diner was predictably quiet, allowing me to drift into a half-sleep. I really am the anti-morning person. I don't know what James was thinking - making me jog at six thirty in the morning. He just wants me dead.

* * *

A brunette groaned in annoyance as she mixed the herbs and blood in her bowl, muttering to herself while she continued her work. _Damn Azazel, can never be on time. 'Oh, look at me, I'm free from hell! La de da de da!' No appreciation, just does as he pleases!_

"I can read minds you know, Elle." The brunette jumped at the sound of her 'partner's' voice. She spun to face him, "Azazel, you were supposed to be here an hour ago." "I had some things to attend to." "Azazel, the plan," Elle reminded her partner tauntingly. "The plan will not be spoiled."

"Need I remind you-" "No, you need not," Azazel cut her off, "Snippy little girl." "Things have to go perfectly. We're not dealing with just your little boys," Elle scolded. "I could've just killed her," Azazel pointed out as he took his partners hand and started the transporting process, which was more complicated when two people were involved.

"No, that won't be-" "We're here," Azazel smiled at his partner cheekily, enjoying the expressions he could manage with a younger body. Elle scowled at the demon as he snapped, causing a car across the street to appear and start smoking dangerously.

Leading the way up the walk, Elle knocked on the door to the Italian boarding house. A small, plump woman answered, and Elle started her act with a nervous smile, "Do you speak English?" The woman, who the devilish pair knew to be the landlord, look them over before screeching in Italian for her only English-speaking tenant, "LANDON!"

* * *

I lay on my cot that night, my eyes crossing at the workout schedule James was demanding of me. At the rate he has me going at, I'll have to be doing sit-ups in the car to keep up. Oh no no no, this will not do. This is my summer vacation, for heaven's sake!

Certain that James would still be up doing whatever it is he did when he wasn't being my watcher, I called him immediately. My brow arched at the sound of James's voicemail, and I stammered as I left my message, "Uh, h-hey James. It's me, calling to talk to you about my, uh, schedule. We're about three days away right now, so I guess I'll just talk to you when we get there. We'll have lunch and you can, uh meet the guys you stuck me with for the summer, your treat. See ya."

Biting my lip, I decided to call James's house number, too. It wasn't very often that James didn't pick up his cell, and he never ignores my calls. But when I pushed the green button to call his house, I was met with one of those annoying, _the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected_ messages.

My brow furrowed again as I glanced at the phone before sliding it shut, and Sam walked out of the bathroom just in time to witness my confused expression, "Something wrong, Carrie?" "My watcher's house phone has been disconnected, and he isn't picking up his cell."

"Well, it is half past ten," Sam pointed out, "Maybe he went to bed." I shook my head, "He's always up until eleven doing... I don't know, but he never goes to sleep before then. And I **know** he didn't forget to pay his home phone bill. He doesn't even have to pay it - the school does." "You... could have the wrong number. How often do you have to call his house?"

Though thoroughly dissatisfied with the offered explanation, I knew that it was the best either of us could come up with and was forced to accept it. Come to think of it, I don't even remember the last time I had to call James's house. "Hey, Dean," I questioned the older of the brothers as he walked out of the bathroom and slipped into the bed that I had allowed him to have for the night. "Yeah, Carden?"

"Carrie," I corrected with a sigh - it's been like this all day, "And I was wondering if we could leave a little earlier tomorrow morning?" "Yeah, sure, why? You as sick of the mutt as I am? Want to get rid of him as soon as possible?" "No, I just have a very bad feeling." "That's what you get for ordering tacos for dinner."


	6. Like Mom Used to Cook

I bit my lip as I slid my phone shut again, more worried and queasy than I had been last night. James hasn't picked up all day - all damned day. He hasn't responded to my calls, my messages; he won't even send me a measly text message. Worse, his house phone still isn't connected. The only way James doesn't know his house phone isn't connected and he hasn't fixed it himself and is still alive is if the devil, and no one short of the devil, is possesing him.

I'm trying to dwell on the 'if he's still alive' part, but it's getting more difficult as Dean is yawing and getting more tired.

"Dean, I have an idea-" _Sorry Tommy._ "Why don't we just drive straight through, you know? Just straight to Portland?" I leaned forward between the seat, pushing my hand straight forward in an attempt to accentuate my point.

Dean looked oddly at me, an amused smirk on his face, "What are you, crazy? We still have at least two more days of driving ahead." "Yeah, but if we drive all night and all day tomorrow, we'll be there by, like ten." The older brother glared at me, dismayed to see that I was completely serious.

"You really are crazy. You dragged our butts out of the motel at seven this morning, practically shoved our food down our throats all day, and now you want me to drive through the night? What's gotten into you Carden?"

I sighed, knowing it was stupid, "I've got a bad feeling." But before dean could criticize me anymore, I broke into a defensive breed of persuasion, "But, I mean, you don't have to drive the **whole** time! _Sam_ could drive, _I _can drive-" "Whoa, no, no one drives this baby but me. Sometimes Sam, when I'm totally incapacitated."

I rolled my eyes, "Don't be so primordial, Dean. Women can drive just as well as men can." "No, he won't let most men drive it, either," Sam interjected in his brother's defense. I rolled my eyes again out of habit, "Why not? What is so special about this car that you can't keep a dog in it, or let anyone drive it?"

"You're not gonna give this up, are you," Dean questioned, changing the subject, but then again whatever gets me to James ASAP. "No." "Your feeling is that bad?" I nodded, "Yeah." Dean sight, his knuckles whitening as he tightened them against the wheel, "Alright, Sammy, how far away are we?"

Seriously?

That's it?

That's _all_ I had to do?

SWEET!"

"About twenty-one hours," Sam said, glancing down at his phone, which in turn was giving us directions. "We'll split it up, two five-hour shifts each. Get some sleep, Sammy." I sighed as I settled deeper into the seat, tucking my toes under Phantom's belly, "Thanks Dean."

* * *

The day passed slowly, and I was sure that I was going to throw up nearly seven times. I didn't even bother eating dinner, instead opting to stay in the car and worry silently, occasionally taking Phantom out for a walk every few minutes, but never daring to go far enough to miss Dean and Sam leaving.

When they came out, I had been on my way in to demand an answer as to why I had been waiting for forty-five minutes. Dean rolled his eyes at me as Sam started the car, "You really need to keep a lid on those bad feelings." "Shut up," I responded as Same sped out of the driveway.

* * *

"How far away are we," I questioned, leaning my head up between the two brothers to stare out the windshield. "Ten minutes, I promise," Sam glanced at me in the rearview mirror as Dean sighed. He observed my college hometown with a mild interest, "Dude, this place is, like, Land of the Hippies and Flower Children." "Yeah, so," I challenged, "We're very liberal."

"Take this left, it's a shortcut." "You're sure," Sam questioned, taking the turn before I had a chance to assure him. But the back-road highway proved to be a dead end. Literally. A tree had fallen across the road.

_Now I know something is wrong - James may be the only person who lives down this road, but he would've called a fallen tree in by now. Someone doesn't want me seeing him._

The thought persuaded me to my feet as I ran, taking only a moment to throw the car door open. I could hear Phantom's tags jingling as he jumped the tree next to me, followed by Sam and Dean slamming their car doors shut.

The spring to Danny's was short, and heart breaking. Halfway there I could smell the scent of burning wood, however faint it was. When I finally got to Danny's house... well, it wasn't a house. It was ruble. Black, charred rubble.

My breathing was shallow, but Dean managed a long, low whistle when he arrived a few minutes later, dropping the weapons he had stopped to grab from the trunk. I gripped at my pocket, which bulged because of my cell phone. "What're you doing," Sam questioned.

"He must've gotten out."

I could tell the brothers were trading looks behind my back, but I don't care. His cell has been ringing, right? And if it had been in the fire, it would've burned along with everything else, and then it wouldn't ring. So then logically he must have gotten out.

My stomach dropped out as I heard it ring, but I tried to hide it as I called out to the boys, "Help me find it!" They obliged quietly, picking through the remains and eyeing what was left of the wall studs carefully. I had to call James' cell three more times before it ran out of battery, Luckily, Sam spotted it a few seconds before it turned off. He found the body right next to it.

I didn't look at it, I couldn't. James lived alone, so who else could it be? At the mention of a ring with an etched-in lion, I broke down. Sam came out of nowhere to catch me, leaving Dean to stand there awkwardly. He'd obviously never had to take care of a sobbing woman before.

The sound of sirens cut my mourning short, and Phantom's ears perked before he started to whine at me. "Carrie," Sam took a firm hold of my shoulders, "This is really important - do you know of anything here that could help us? A safe of a-" I nodded, knowing what Sam wanted - research, demon stuff, anything to help us out.

"James had a safe, fire-proof, in the kitchen. A-and we'll need his cell phone and his ring." "His ring," Dean questioned, and I nodded, "Trust me." "Alright, let's go cleanout the safe," Sam helped me up, and I had to lead him towards the kitchen. The safe was relatively easy to spot - it was the only thing not made of charcoal.

"Is there anything else? Weapons, maybe?" I sniffed, "My training room was in the basement; all of the weapons will be down there. I'll go." Sam tried to grab me, but I was already through what was left of the basement door and heading down the stairs, torn between wanting the house to cave in and praying for it to hold up.

That's so overdramatic I would bat myself up if I wasn't standing in a mostly destroyed basement.

Just my luck - the weapons box is at the bottom of the stairs, and mostly intact. I picked it up with more than mild difficulty and carried back up the stairs to find an annoyed-looking Dean, "The police are outside, we need to go!"

My brow furrowed and my nose itched; I was dying for a tissue. "Alright, alright, why so tense?" "The police think we're dead," Sam offered as Dean eyed the front of the house carefully. The itchy nose was suddenly much less important, "Why do the-"

"Long story, we'll tell you later, nice trip down memory lane, we can bake cookies for all I care, but can we please go now?" I rolled my eyes, "Through the woods - there are a million trails; I used to jog them all the time." "We're so lucky some of the kitchen walls held up," Dean hissed at his brother, and if I wasn't too busy trying to contain my hiccups, I would've laughed.

Phantom, used to the trails for his own training, did not distinguish this getaway from our jogs. According to him, _this_ is where we jog, and apparently it didn't **matter** that I was holding a full box of weapons that I can barely see over, or that Sam is so weighed down with books his neck veins are distinguishable, despite the lack of light, or that Dean is carrying all of the arsenal he could fit in two bags. No, according to my puppy, **this** is the place where we jogged and we _should_ be jogging.

He really isn't as smart as everyone gives him credit for. He knows a bunch of commands - that's it.

"Phantom, I swear," I warned him, feeling as if I should growl savagely at him... what? It makes sense - speak his language, or whatever... You know what? Stress makes me do crazy things! And this... well, this is the epitome of stress. The man who fathered me more than my own father is dead and this box of weapons I'm supposed to be sneaking around with weighs a freaking ton.

"Do any of these paths go anywhere near where we left the car," Dean hissed at me while glancing around. I risked closing my eyes and mapping the forest for a second, biting my lip, "Oh, no, not really." "Well, how far will the paths take - what are you doing?"

I veered off the trail at a roughly forty-five degree angle, "Getting us to the car." "How do you know where you're going?" "I know these woods like the back of my hand." "You're about to walk into a tree," Dean warned while simultaneously criticizing me. Sure enough, the weapons box collided with a tree trunk, "Just trust me, okay?"

Dean gave a heard glare at Sam, but Sam shrugged and, a moment later, waded after me through the underbrush.

* * *

Thirty minutes later we were checked into an inn that allowed pets, located a mile outside of town, carrying our bags plus most of the stuff we'd recovered from James' apartment. The ride had been quiet, as Dean had been when he realized my estimations were only about a half-mile off. Granted, that was complete luck, but it was enough.

There was a couch in the room, tonight for Sam, but I decided it as mine and laid down on it accordingly. Sam had driven to get me to James' house - he deserves a real bed. I would've taken Deans' bed, but Dean drove too. He was just as considerate as Sam.

"So," the 'considerate' one started, obviously searching for something to say other than, 'So, your watchers... burnt to a crisp... like mom used to cook, huh?' The thought was meant to make me laugh, but had obvious shortcomings. "I could use a beer, huh? Sam, couldn't you go for a beer right now?" "Uh, sure." "Great, brother drinking night. Unless, you know, Carden, you wanted to come and... you know, talk."

"No, I-" "Or we could stay here and talk," Sam offered, "No beer involved." "Or," Dean pointed out, "We could go get the beer, bring it ba-" "Guys," I cut them off, "It's alright. You two go get the beer, or whatever you want. I need to make some phone calls."

The boys didn't need telling twice, and promptly left me alone. I stared at the number rolling across James' phone a long time before calling it. "Hi," I said before the secretary could tell me to call back later, "This is Carden Adair, put me through to the Headmistress right away. It's an emergency." "One moment."

The phone rang a few more times before she picked up, "Hello? Carden?" "Yes I'm calling concerning my watcher." "What about him? Is James alright?" "James is..." My voice broke a few times before I could spit it out, toying with his ring in my hands, "He's dead."


	7. Chunky Monkey

Dean and Sam came back at around midnight, not drunk but, instead, the teeniest bit tipsy. Sam held a brown paper bag in his hands, and his goofy smile fell when he saw me. _Well, now, don't __**I**__ just feel like a little kill-joy. I mean, I know I've been crying, but I'm not dead or suicidal or completely opposed to the idea of fun._

Alright, some of that was a tad untruthful – at that moment, I was completely opposed to the idea of me having fun, and I had been crying a **lot.** James and I had been closer than father-daughter. He did way more than any father – a father protects you from mean boyfriends and evil teachers. James did everything for me, he protected me in ways that no other father could really imagine.

Dean's expression matched his brother's when he and I made eye contact, and for a moment they both just stood there, gawking at me like I had four horns growing from either of my ears. I shifted, quite reasonably uncomfortable under the boys' stare. Phantom's ears perked as he looked between me and the boys, obviously trying to figure out what was happening.

"Uh," Sam said, the smile returning for a moment, like a nervous tick, "We didn't know what to get you, but this always cheered Jess up." Sam tossed me the brown paper bag and my nose wrinkled. _Didn't I say no alcohol? And whose Jess?_

I opened the bag anyway, partly because I wanted to be polite something James always insisted of me and partly because it didn't feel like a bottle of vodka. I smirked as I pulled my gift from it's wrapping – Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey. _Too bad I absolutely abhor bananas._

"Sorry if it's not the right vintage, or whatever," Dean said, and I looked back up at the boys to see them stripping and pulling on PJs for bed. I flinched – it was hard to ignore the twin six-packs the brothers shared.

"We haven't lived with a girl in, like… ever." I rolled my eyes at Dean's blatantly-buzzed comment before Sam continued their mini-rant, "And we already agreed that you're getting your own room from now on, 'til whenever you feel comfortable enough to stay with us again."

"When you're not crying every night," Dean translated for his brother, who promptly punched him in the arm. "Ow, dude!" "Dean, that was crude!" "You were cryptic," the brother retorted, and for a moment they shared a brotherly glare – I was surprised they didn't stick their tongues out at each other.

But then they broke the glare at the same time, and all wrongs were forgotten. "Night," Dean said, diving into his bed. Sam did the same, leaving the lights on so I could eat my Chunky Monkey. "Night," Sam said, lying down for only a moment before jolting up, "It's not my night for a bed." I couldn't help smirking at him, "Go to sleep, Sam."

Sam's brow furrowed, "But, no, you had a rough day. You take the bed and I'll take-" "Go to sleep, Sam," I repeated, "Besides, I have to stay up and eat my Chunky Monkey." I held up the pint of ice cream for emphasis, and Sam held my eyes in a suspicious stare before nodding, "Alright, Carrie, ni-"

Dean groaned, picking up one of his extra pillows and throwing it at his brother, "Sam, shut up." Sam rolled his eyes, falling onto his back and starting to snore a little almost immediately. I shook my head at the two brothers, _They're unbelievable._

I waited for a few minutes before standing and grabbing Dean's jacket off the floor. His keys were shoved stereotypically in his pocket, along with a crumbled mess of receipts. I looked through them quietly, my brow furrowed until I found the right one.

_Motel… motel…. Diner... alcohol…. Cheese puffs…. Fast food… Here we go, Seven-Eleven for a Ben and Jerry's pint of Chunky Monkey._ Shoving the keys and receipt in my back pocket, I grabbed Dean's wallet as an after thought, turned off the light and slipped out of the room.

I hadn't bothered to change, or even really move, since we'd gotten to the motel, so I wasn't cold like I had been the last time I'd stepped out of the motel. With a pang in my stomach, I remembered that I'd stepped out to take a call from James.

I considered my situation as I walked down the street, where I could see the sign for the Seven-Eleven shining. The headmistress had told me that I would be assigned a watcher at the end of the summer, after an extensive search, and that I was officially off-duty until further notice. My family was being notified to get out of town and to plan on living in a motel for the rest of the summer, where they would be under sufficient protection.

The plan from there on didn't change much – go on with the Winchesters for the rest of the summer, and then move in with my new watcher once graduate schooling started in Philadelphia. The rest of my life for a while would be played by ear – based on what whatever demonic signs and such were showing up, I would live my life accordingly.

Sighing, I pushed open the door to the Seven Eleven, where an older woman eyed me suspiciously. I smiled, trying to ignore my puffy eyes and chapped lips, "Uh, I'm sorry, but my friend bought me some cheer-up ice cream, and I was hoping to trade it in for a different flavor."

Glancing me up and down, I tried to ignore the feeling of appraisal as I reached into my back pocket, pulling out the receipt and the credit card. The ice cream stood on the counter, melting as the cashier inspected it. "What's wrong with it?" "They got me Chunky Monkey," I told her, "But I'm deathly allergic to bananas."

She eyed me, "And your friends didn't know about it?" "They aren't very bright," I replied, trying to smile and hoping she didn't remember Dean and Sam as being the cute guys that she'd probably looked at much more closely, and appreciated what she saw much more than she appreciated me.

"I guess that's fine," she said gruffly, handing me back the ice cream and pointing towards the milk and freezers that lined the wall, "Ice cream is over there." I nodded, grabbing the ice cream and the credit card off the counter and walking towards where she'd indicated.

Leaning down and grabbing the most chocolate-intensive one I could find, I ignored the glare the woman gave me. Apparently, she'd remembered Dean and Sam, and did **not** appreciate my insults. _Oh, come on. You're, like, thirteen times their age. Freaking dinosaur._

Smiling to myself, I reached across the counter to where a coffee-maker stood, a spoon sitting right next to it. I took the ice cream in the other hand, popping the lid off and handing it to her. She took the lid, but glared at the spoon, "You can't do that." "It's compensation for shitty customer service," I replied smartly, turning and walking out of the shop.

Desperate to contemplate anything but my life, I instead contemplated the ice cream. It was chocolaty, and a very sweet gesture. In fact, the more I thought about it, the worse I felt about how I'd been acting.

I mean, I've been a bitch to the guys. I know this, and I openly admit it. And we all know Dean has been a bitch to me. But I've been more than bitchy, I've been downright _unpleasant._ And what do they do? They make kind gestures. Well, I get the feeling that Sam makes kind gestures and Dean just goes along with it, but still.

Holding my spoon in my mouth for a particularly long moment, I made a decision, a vow. I would try to get along with the boys, from this moment onward. James would've wanted it, and they've definitely proven that they deserve it.

_But if Dean makes one crack at a burnt Watcher I'll run him into the ground._

* * *

Dean glanced back at me in the car, his eyes squinting, "You alright back there, Carden?" "It's Carrie," I groaned, letting my neck unhinge and my head fall back against the window, "And yes, I'm fine. I'm just reading." "Reading, aye," Dean questioned.

"Yeah, reading, it's what me and Sam do while you drive down mindless little backroads," I smirked. So, I'm still being a bitch. But I'm definitely being a much more positive bitch. This bitch smiles and enjoys her witty banter.

Well, my part is witty. Dean's is moody and grumpy.

See? My sense of humor is so back in full force. It only took a week of Dean and Sam investigating and confirming it was Avril, or A-Xena, or whatever. Now I'm much more positive, and much more intent upon killing that damn demon.

"Haha, very funny." "You found anything on demon resurrection," Sam questioned, glancing back at me. I shook my head, "I'm not very good at the researching thing. How about you?" "Uh, no," Sam said, glancing back at his laptop, "Nothing yet."

I shrugged, "Keep on going, I guess." I glanced down at my book, my eyes catching Phantom along the way. My brow furrowed, my eyes immediately glancing back up at him. His tail stuck out straight, and he was trying to shove his nose out the window. _He's got something..._

"Dean, pull over," I said. He smirked, "Next rest stop, babe." "No, really, I need you to stop." "Well, if you need me that badly..." "Dean!" "Alright, alright," Dean said, glancing over and pulling onto the grassy shoulder of the highway.

As soon as the car had rolled to a sufficient stop, I threw open Phantom's door and jumped out after him, having to run to keep up with him. "Carden," I heard Dean yell, followed by two distinctive car door slams. But I was a slave to my dog, and my dog was pretty intent on the smell.

"Carden, you stop right now," Dean screamed, and I could hear him crash through the underbrush after me. But Phantom responded with a loud, moaning bay. He was close, and I was probably screwed. I hadn't had any time to grab any weapons, so all I had was Brady.

I mean, sure, Brady is a rigged pocket knife, but he won't help at all if I come up against a demon the size of a grizzly, or any of the things that live in the woods. He's good for basic self-defense and giving a nice wound, but the farther Tommy drags me, the more likely that I'm going to need to cause more damage than a mere wound to get away.

I dug my heels into the ground, determined to stop him, but the boots I'd thought looked cute this morning worked against the dry leaves coating the forest since last autumn. Phantom continued to pull against his leash, effectively dragging me behind him.

But that's what I get for getting a dog - the dogs that Slayers got, which were optional, were injected with Slayer's blood and specially trained in both combat and tracking. In turn, every Slayer who got a dog was specially trained in handling such a potentially dangerous canine.

These thoughts distracted me, and somehow I completely missed where Phantom was leading me, which was towards a black, spiral-like hole in the ground. I glanced down at the entirely wrong moment - I knew just what was about to happen, but was entirely helpless to stop it.

I felt a hand grip my arm, "Oh, no y-" But it was just too late, and me plus a hand and a dog went tumbling into the black pit of swirling nothingness.

Shit.


	8. I Love Lucy

Hey - I just felt like I should say hi to all you guys reading. It's summer now, and I'm posting a schedule of when I'll be updating, and also talk about a story I may want to start posting. Check it out? You're awesome.

* * *

Above me, I could make out a distinct, deep groan, "Ow." The sound made my head throb even worse, and I tried to remember what I'd been doing to hurt myself so badly. _Let's see... we were driving... Phantom caught a trail... and then there was a swirly, black hold of, presumably, death and destruction._

"Stupid dog," I mumbled, trying to roll out from whatever, or whomever, was on me. "Stop moving," the thing groaned, and I opened my eyes to see a very pained-looking Dean. _Oh, of course. Cause God hates me._ "Dean, get off me."

Grudgingly, Dean rolled off me and onto his stomach, "Oof." _Baby._ "Where are we," he asked, and I looked around. There was forest, strangely dull-colored, as far as I could see, and I laid my head back on the ground, feeling exhausted, "Woods, somewhere."

I felt Dean move next to me and heard him groan in pain, his arm smacking against his ribs. "Carden," he questioned, but I was already stuck in a half-slumbering state. My tongue felt heavy, in addition to the rest of my body. I just wanted to sleep, just for a few minutes...

"Carden," Dean said, louder this time. I felt him lean over me, propping himself on his elbow and slapping my cheek, "Carden, you can't go to sleep, you probably have a concussion." A concussion. That made sense. "But I'm tired. I'll fight the concussion after my nap."

Dean tapped my cheek harder, "No, you've got to fight it now. If you go to sleep you might not wake up. Stay awake and alert." "You wouldn't care if I didn't wake up," I accused incoherently, and that was when Metallica started playing.

_Metallica? I __must__ have a concussion. _"Carden, if you aren't awake when I'm done talking to whoever this is, so help me, I'll-" Preemptively ignoring his threat, I decided it would be a better idea to roll onto my side, my back to him. It would really drive the message home, and I wouldn't have to talk.

He sighed, and I heard his phone snap open. "Hello? Sam? Are you okay? Where are you? What do you mean the hole closed up? What was that damn thing? I don't know! I'm in some freaky woods with Carden. You sure you're okay? Fine, alright."

The phone shut, followed by a prompt slap to my face. I groaned, rolling onto my back as Dean hovered over me, "Really, Dean, I'll be-" I opened my eyes to glare at him, but instead found myself shocked out of most of my rage.

_I have to be seeing things,_ I decided. Dean's brow furrowed at my shock, "What? What's wrong?" "Dean-" _It's just a really bad concussion._ "Dean, you're in black and white." His brow furrowed into a dark knot in the middle of his forehead, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that suddenly you like you should be on an episode of _I Love Lucy,_" I spat back ,rolling my eyes. I mean, come on, was black and white **that** far-fetched? Let's think about some of the other things I've seen... "Are you color-blind?" "If I was, do you really think I would've mentioned it now?"

Jeez, he thinks I'm stupid, doesn't he? It's the blonde hair - people think the fact that I lack some sort of pigment that I'm lacking brain cells to match. Glaring at him, I started to giggle, "And falling does funny things to your hair." Dean carefully raised his hand to his scalp, his hair so pressed down that it was actually slicked back-looking.

"Yeah, well," Dean sputtered, trying to figure out why his hair had gone young-Hannibal-Lecter on him, "You're in black and white too!" My brow furrowed, "Are you saying you've been seeing things in black and white and you didn't realize?"

Dean's brow furrowed, _"And_ your hair is funny." I shook my head, finding it in a ponytail. _That's strange... how would falling make it into a ponytail?_ "Yeah, but at least I realized I can't see color. Imbecile." Dean opened his mouth to reply, but before he could he was cut off, "Good golly, is that you Carrie?"

Dean jumped back off me, and my brow furrowed in an even tighter knot as I tried to figure out what I was seeing, "Jill?!"

As for an explanation, Jill was my best friend from high-school. She and I had remained pretty close, despite the difference of college, but now she looked... different. Like, seriously different. There's a poodle skirt and a top that would probably be a pastel color... if I could only see in color.

Her hair was in the stereotypical sex-kitten bump, and I tried to figure out what was happening as she started to babble, "What're you doing back here in the woods? Mr. Crabapple has been looking all over for you!" "Mr. Crabapple?" Who the hell is named Crabapple anymore?!

"Yeah, but don't worry, I won't tell him you were back here with a boy. What's his name?" She looked a little shy, which was stereotypical Jill. Give her five minutes and she'll warm up to anyone, though. "Wha- No, I wasn't _with_ him," I tried to explain.

"I know you weren't," she said slyly, "But you should hear what Mr. Crabapple is saying. Thinking he shouldn't have let you out here with the boys for gym and saying awful things." "He shouldn't have let me out with the boys for gym?" What is this, The Land Before Time?!

"Oh yeah, calling you a damn suffragette and saying that you'd probably found a way to hell, and hoping Jesus would save you and all. He had a few of the girls praying for you." "Praying for me?" "I was gonna join in, I swear, but I thought it might help to save you physically before I save your soul."

Huh? "Jill, you're Quaker. You don't even believe in hell." "Of course I believe in hell," Jill said, and I swear she had a Southern accent. "Ahem," Dean spoke up form his spot on the dirt, and when I looked over I realized that his attire was akin to Jill's - a light plaid shirt tucked into his jeans and a varsity jacket to top off the outfit. He looked out of place - a strange mix of farm boy and all-American.

"Oh, sorry, Dean, this is Jill, my best friend." "Pleased to meet ya," Jill said, smiling as she bent down to shake Dean's hand. Shooting me an odd look, Dean tried to smile, "Uh, yeah, course." "Oh, Carrie, you never told me about him. Didn't know you'd get over Landon so quickly."

"Landon? Landon's here," I questioned, immediately looking around. Suddenly, wherever I'd gotten to didn't seem so bad. "Did you hit your head? Of course he's here, he's in our gym class. I'd figured you would've come back here to talk to him. I'm so sorry about that breakup, honey."

My heart sank - apparently, no matter where I go, I'm breaking up with Landon. "Yeah, it's a shame." "Well," Jill said, entirely too quickly for me to have mourned properly, "It's time to go. Coach is gonna throw a fit if Mr. Crabapple comes back without you."

"Oh, yeah," I said, glancing over my shoulder at Dean desperately as Jill grabbed my hand and started to pull me away, "I'd hate to get coach angry." "Darn tootin'."

* * *

Somehow, gym had been my last class of the day. The lockers to the school that I apparently went to opened with a key, and Jill giggled when I tried to find it. Not that I'm too familiar with my attire - I'd changed into the same style of dress as Dean and Jill, which I'd found when I'd changed back out of my gym clothes. Knee-length black skirt, knee-high socks, and saddle-shoes. I actually look disgusting.

It's not as bad as the inside of my locker, though. It's just creepy - posters of Elvis and a magnet with one of those black-cat clocks on it. You know, the one that looks like it's going to eat you, with the big eyes and the swinging tail? My locker is my own worst nightmare.

As school let out, I searched the crowd. _If Dean left me here..._ There was a loud honk, followed by a girl giving an excited shriek. "Oh, HI DEAN!" I rolled my eyes,_ Yeah, that would be him._ I had to push through a crowd, only to find him in an exact replica of 'the baby.'

He smiled when he saw me, "Carden! Hop on in!" The girls swooned at his casual smile, and I rolled my eyes as I threw open the car door and jumped in, before one of these girls attacked.

You laugh, but it's likely. These girls think he's scrumptious.

Dean threw them all one last cavalier smile before speeding away, "I didn't know I was so popular at your school." "I didn't know you could actually steal a car and whore yourself out to half the female population in the time it takes me to get changed and find my locker which, by the way, scares me."

Dean smirked, "Hey, I didn't do anything wrong. The keys to this baby were in my pocket and when I pulled up, all those girls came running to **me."** "Oh, right, cause you're just that sexy," I rolled my eyes, not giving him time to retaliate, "So, did you call Sam?"

"Uh, yeah, he says he has no idea what it is. We're thinking time-loop of some sort," Dean said, turning down a random road and honking at some girls, who in turn giggled at him, "Really, these girls love me." "Focus," I ordered, "Because you obviously _weren't_ focusing when you were talking to Sam."

"Hey," Dean replied, "I was **very** focused." "If you'd been focused, you'd have at least told Sam what he needs to know to find out that this isn't a time loop." Dean grumbled, "Like what?" "Like, for instance, the fact that we are seeing in black and white. Or the fact that you can actually talk to him."

"Time loops can make you see in black and white," Dean defended. "Oh, and they can also suddenly provide cellular phone reception in all decades? It's actually how the dinosaurs become extinct-" "Alright, jeez," Dean said, "Know it all."

I shrugged, "I've just been caught in a time-loop or two. Demons create them, they're really very distinctive." Dean made a face at me before turning down another road, "Look, if you could just figure out where you live, I'd be immensely appreciative, cause I caught wind of an ice cream social tonight."

"Dean!" "What," Dean questioned. "Focus!" "Alright, alright, I'm focused!" I rolled my eyes, picking up my some-light-colored and black checkered bag, hoping it would say somewhere. As luck would have it, I found my grade report, which I guess I was supposed to have turned in at some point.

"Heh," I said, smiling at my grades, "Well, what do you know? Straight A's except for gym. Life is good without slaying." "What'd you get in gym?" "C plus. I guess I'm not very athletic." "Or Mr. Crabapple thought you found a way to hell and thought letting you barely pass would make you appreciate Jesus."

I rolled my eyes, "Anyway, if you can find Greenbriar lane, I can find my house." "Alright," Dean said, making another turn onto the main road through town. Three times up and down the main drag, and we still had no idea.

Dean sighed, obviously tired of the seemingly endless search, "Maybe I have a map?" I rolled my eyes, leaning down and pulling open the glove-box. Of course, I'm not good with maps, so I don't know how one will help us... "Here's one... yo-"

My voice died as I saw the name of the town, printed along the top of the map. _Oh, you've got to be kidding me._ "Where do I turn, Carden," Dean questioned, obviously a little more than annoyed.

I felt myself start to smirk in disbelief, "Doesn't matter. I know where we are." "Oh, anyone could tell us where we are, where we want to g-" "Dean, we're in Pleasantville."


	9. Blink 1802

So, I wanted to tell you guys again how much I enjoy that you guys love it, especially Buffy 1890. That girl is seriously my hero.

"We're where?" "Pleasantville," I repeated, wondering if he even knew what I was talking about. "You mean that town in Pennsylvania?" _Obviously not..._ "In this case, I think I mean the place from the movie." "What movie?" "You know, Tobey McGuire and Reese Witherspoon go into a TV show and make everything become in color and modern."

"Is this movie anything like that midget porno you told me about?" I groaned, "Snow White and the Seven Doors is **not porno."** "All I'm saying is seven midgets and a girl is pretty kinky stuff; I'm not judging you. If anything, I approve," Dean replied, and I wondered if he'd yell at me for hitting my head against the dashboard and ruining his poodle-skirt era of the baby.

"It's a movie, I swear. Just a movie. No midget-on-girl action; Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is musical cartoon for children." "Whatever you say. What do you know about being caught in a movie?" Dean questioned as he changed the subject with a cheeky grin. "Not a thing," I replied, quite honestly. This is definitely a first in my supernatural world, "You?"

"Never even thought it could happen," Dean replied, already pulling out his cell phone. As Dean waited for Sam to pick up, I added, "Oh, and make sure Sam gives Phantom his dinner." "Yeah, yeah. Sammy? Yeah, it's me, we figured out we're in some movie Carden's seen. I think it's called Pleasantville?" Dean looked at me for conformation, and I nodded.

Dean was silent for a moment before, "Alright, thanks Sammy. Oh, and Carden-" I punched Dean in the arm, _If asking nicely isn't going to work, I'll just have to resort to violence._ "-wants you to feed her dog." Dean's brow furrowed, "Alright, I'll tell her."

Dean snapped his phone shut, looked at me, and promptly cried, "OW!" "Oh, don't be a baby." "You're a freak, with freak punching skills," Dean said, "And Sam said he doesn't know where your damn dog is." "What?!" Oh, it's panic time. "The dog went in with us, Carden-" I punched him, and he flinched and rubbed his arm,. "So the dog is here somewhere."

"Well, I hope you can find your way to the woods, cause that's where we're heading." "Shouldn't you go home and be, like, yourself?" "No," I replied, "It doesn't matter. For all we know, it's like what a Djinn does; I don't think this place is real."

Dean looked at me for a long while before sighing, "Alright, to the woods it is then. How hard can the woods be to find?" "And maybe I'll run into Jill, and I can invite myself over her house and then have her, like, walk me home or something, in case there's a... madman on the loose."

"If we run into Jill, she might be tumbling after Jack." I snorted, "You obviously haven't seen Pleasantville... or met Jill." _Hey, look at that. I pointed out flaws in Dean __**and**__ rhymed. That's gotta be double points._

* * *

"Tommy," I called, picking my way through underbrush and feeling very annoyed at my baby-puppy, "Phantom, I swear to you, if you don't get back here right now-" "Oh, so now your infamous mutt understands threats," Dean questioned smartly from behind. I glared, wishing he was looking at me so he could see how much I **do** not appreciate that joke, "Shut up."

"I'm just saying-" "He's probably in town," I decided, turning back and jutting my hip out as I waited for Dean to turn back towards the car. Dean looked at me, obviously taken off guard, "What?" "We've been searching these woods for the past hour and a half - if he'd heard me, he would've come, and he hasn't come so he hasn't heard me."

"I was never under the impression that dogs always come when they're called - what if there's something more important? Maybe he found a hot she-wolf," Dean replied. I rolled my eyes, finally just pushing past Dean, "God you're a pig. He's probably just tracking whatever it is he smelled in the car, whatever it is that created this movie-zone."

There was a pause, _"That_ was why we had to stop the car? Your dog smelled something?" "Yeah," I replied, "Didn't you figure that out?" "I thought he was going to pee in the seat, or you thought you saw the Yellow-Eyed Demon in the woods; I didn't think your dog **smelled** something!"

"He has a very sensitive nose, and since he was three months old he's been trained to hunt down supernatural things." "Oh, you guys just got it all down to a science over there, with all your training." "Dude, what crawled up your butt?" "There is nothing crawling up my butt - I'm just stuck in the Twilight just because your dog's nose tingled!"

"His nose doesn't tingle! And you obviously don't know anything about pop culture anymore - Pleasantville was color by the end of it all, it was just black and white in the _beginning._ Then they made everything not innocent, and everything not innocent and perfect became color. Like when some girls made out, they got to be in color. It was a huge thing - kind of like racism, only not so extreme."

"Well, God, can we please color some shit up instead of just running around looking like chickens with our heads chopped off," Dean questioned as we emerged back onto the road, where we'd left the baby. I glared at Dean over the car, leaning my front against the passenger side while I waited for him to unlock the doors, "Dean, seriously, get that stick out of your butt right now."

"THERE'S NO STICK IN MY BUTT!" "And you think Sam is a killjoy," I muttered, and he groaned as the doors to the Impala unlocked. "Just... let's find your house and get you home. I just wanna go to a motel and sleep." "I thought you had that ice cream social you had to get to tonight." "You actually thought I would go to an ice cream social?" Dean glanced over at me and smirked, "Maybe we'll need to keep that dog around. He's obviously got more brains than you."

I rolled my eyes, "That actually failed as an insult." "Oh, buzz off, you'd probably go to the ice cream social if you were invited." "That's because I'm a good person who doesn't blow people off, and I probably was invited." "Oh, then why don't you go?" "Cause I'm looking for my dog, did you _forget_ that this isn't really a popularity contest?" "I would so win a popularity contest; I'm way better-looking."

I snorted, "You wish." "You saw those girls today at your school - I'm like Elvis, only better!" "You think they count? If you went out with any one of them it'd be pedophilia." "No it wouldn't," Dean protested. "Dean, you're, like, in your late twenties!" "No, no, I'm only five years older than you. So if you're eighteen in high school, that means I'm only twenty three right now."

"I'm pretty sure that still counts as you being a pedophile." There was a momentary silence, which I spent looking out the window until, "Oh my God, Dean! It's Greenbriar Lane! Turn, TURN!" "Alright, jeez," he chuckled at my enthusiasm, and I wondered only briefly how he to go from at-my-throat to chuckling in under five minutes. New world record? I think so.

"I'm house number six hundred and sixty six," I told him, looking up and down the road and trying to figure out which block we were on as Dean burst out laughing, "How perfect is that?! Six six six, oh, that's a classic." I looked at him, laugh lightly at his amusement, _God, he's a freak._

"I think it's this next house on the left," I commented, and Dean dutifully pulled into the driveway. I smiled at him awkwardly, "Well, thanks for the ride." "I'll be by tonight," Dean replied, "After everyone else is asleep, and we'll figure this out. What time do people go to sleep these days? Sundown? They'd better watch out, the vampires might eat them."

I rolled my eyes, slamming his car door shut, "Yeah right, Dean. See ya." He smiled, pulling out of the driveway as I opened the door to my house, "Mom! I'm home!" "Oh, hello honey," my mother said, smiling at me momentarily, and then frowning, "Where's Dean?"

My face paled as I threw my back pack down in the foyer, "What?" "You said you were going to bring a boy home for us to meet, you said his name was Dean. I've got the casserole made and everything - you two were so late I thought you'd might not come."

"Oh, Dean, right, I'm bringing him home," I said nervously. _Fuck! Why the hell would I bring Dean home? He'll never let me hear the end of this. _"He's just, uh, parking his car; we just wanted to be sure you, uh, remembered. Let me go grab him."

I slipped out of the house, glad to see that, miraculously, Dean had only made it to the end of the block. I stepped forward, waving my arms, "DEAN!" But my voice died in my throat as I saw Phantom across the street, running after a man and nipping at his heels.

_That's got to be the bastard that brought us here,_ I realized, and started to yell, "GET HIM PHANTOM!" The man, who had been running from my dog, stopped short when he heard my voice. He looked up at me, almost shocked. He wore a fedora and what probably would've been a bright orange suit.

Our eyes made contact, Phantom leaped into the air, and the man snapped his fingers with an annoyingly content smirk on his face.

And suddenly, everything changed around me, fading into the black, swirling mess that Dean and I had originally fallen into. The ground shook, knocking me off balance and I felt a feeling akin to that described in Harry Potter when they are travelling by Portkey.

When the world finally stopped spinning, I looked around, _Hey? Where did my colorless suburbia go?_ _And why the hell am I so itchy?_ Instead of colorless would-be-pastel houses, there were trees, and in place of my asphalt street there was a dirt road, at the end of which Dean sat, looking around furiously.

The man, and my darling puppy-dog, were gone, replaced by a small decorative garden. To either side of the house, I could see more extensive gardens, which a multitude of workers were running in and out of, dressed in tatters. I, on the other hand, was dressed in nineteenth-century perfection. Can we say Pride and Prejudice gone bad?

I ran my tongue over my teeth, standing and brushing the dirt from my dress, which was apparently made completely of lace and the ever elusive fabric of poof. I felt at my hair, only to find it in a tight knot that felt like it would be painful to look at.

Glancing back up, I remembered Dean at the end of the drive, sitting there in just about as much lace as I had in my entire skirt, along with vibrantly-blue breeches and a matching coat. His hair was matted down, without and gel to keep it slicked back or sticking straight up.

I bit my lap, not imagining he was at all comfortable in his attire. _And what's worse - his pretty outfit is all ruined,_ I thought to myself sarcastically as I started to make my way down the lane. I doubted my mother would want to meet him, unless I could pawn him off as our new neighbor.

Dean heard my footsteps when I was all of fifteen feet away, and turned to face me, a glare fixed on his face. As I stood above him, reaching my hand down to help him up, he screamed three very ungentlemanly words at me: "What the fuck!?"


	10. Apathetic Way to Be

Note x1: I'm going to start posting the Oliver Wood story that's on my homepage as being a potential story. The prologue should be up by tomorrow-ish.

Note x2: I still **love** you guys.

Note x3: This may seem like some OOCness for the Trickster, but it gets explained why he's like that later. Or at least, I have an explanation as to why.

* * *

I smiled hopefully at Dean, "At least we can see in color." "Where the fuck are we now?" "I'm going to assume, cause you have lace on and all, the early eighteen hundreds." Dean's jaw tightened, "Excuse me?" "It's really a funny story-"

"So we're stuck in a story, now? Cause fairytales I've had experience with." "No, no, it's a funny story as to how we got here. You see, apparently I was supposed to bring you home to have dinner with me and my family, so I was running out to get you and there was Phantom, chasing some dude down the street."

"Your mutt did this to us?!" "No, no, let me finish," I said nervously, "So I figured he was chasing the guy who brought us here, and so I told Phantom to get him good, and the guy saw me, and then he snapped his fingers and voila - pre-lack-of-color-TV."

"So _you_ did this to us?" "Technically the guy who brought us here did this to us." "Card-" "Again, now we can see in color." "I don't even know where my cell phone is in these pants!" "I doubt you still have your cell phone," I replied.

"Ca-" "Mine's in my bra, I probably managed to keep it," I responded defensively. "I'm wearing lace," Dean reiterated, and I couldn't help but start to laugh. I knelt down to untie to lacy-poof from around his neck, "But this looks so cute on you."

Dean's glare became a half-pout, making him look like a very angry fish. "Well, I guess we'll have to figure this all ou-" "I wonder what's going on tonight at my house," I cut him off. "Oh, for heaven's sakes, please." "No, I want to go find out," I replied. This era looks like it might be fun.

I didn't realize Dean was following me until I met my mother, who looked horrified, "And who is this?!" "Huh?" I turned around, only to see a very confused looking Dean. _Oh, that could end badly. Looking at boys in this era gets me married._

"This is D- Mr. Winchester," I caught myself. _I can't believe I'm actually going to use this excuse,_ "He's our newest neighbor staying at the... Burberry Mansion," I lied. "He was looking for father, and I thought it would be imperative of me, as a-" Shit I hope I'm not wrong, "As a woman who hopes to be a gracious host one day and to be a married lady to make the introductions."

My mother grabbed me protectively around the shoulders, dragging me to her side, "You are not eligible for marriage until tonight, young lady." I bit my lip, _Why tonight? What's so sp-_ "My coming out party is tonight," I exclaimed, realizing why everyone was rushing about.

My mother laughed nervously, "Have you forgotten?" "Whoa, Carden, I didn't know you swung that way." Dean replied, smirking. I mentally slapped him across the face as my mother gasped, "What did you call her?" "I mean, uh, Carrie?" I shook me head. "Uh, uh-"

"Mr. Winchester is part of a new causality-movement. He believes that once you are comfortable with someone, it is alright to call them by their first name." "Well," my mother said, eying him up and down a bit angrily, "If he's so comfortable with you, than he may be the one to escort you to your party tonight. Lord knows that Mr. Merrow wouldn't be."

My heart sunk - Landon. Of course. Cause Landon and I are literally breaking up **everywhere.** Even in places where I'm not allowed to date. "Well, I would be... pleased to do such a thing... eth." I mentally slapped myself again, _It's not Shakespeare, Dean!_ "But I fear that should I wish to doeth such a thing, I would have to be-eth alone with your absolutely breathtaking daughter for a bit." _Oh God, he's going to get himself committed._

My mother looked at him before very blatantly telling him, "I'm not sure I approve of your conduct, Mr. Winchester." I snorted into my hand, leaving both Dean and my mother to look at me oddly. "Bug," I responded helplessly, knowing that now, no matter what I did, I wouldn't look as stupid as Dean had.

At that, my mother walked off, probably to continue freaking out about my party tonight. Some things will never change.

Dean looked thoughtful as he moved to stand next to me, watching my mother walk off, "So tell me, all-knowing-bitch, would that disaster be unmitigated, or just a disaster?" "Unmitigated," I replied, looking up at him cheekily.

He gave me a wan smile in return, "Thanks, mistress of the damned." "You're the one who started making things end in 'eth.' You drowned yourself out there. Didn't you ever read Pride and Prejudice?" "You and your weirdo porn," Dean shook his head, caught halfway between joking and embarrassed, and I just laughed at him.

Not sure what else to do, we ambled our way towards an open door which, in turn, led to a garden. "So, tell me about the man you saw." "Well, for starters, I'm pretty sure his suit was bright orange." Dean rolled his eyes, "Women and their fashion."

I punched him lightly in the arm, "And he kind of looked like a young Bill Pullman." Dean stopped in his tracks, "Son of a bitch." My brow furrowed, "Excuse me, but ho-" "Not you, I just think I know who did it, can I get your cell phone?"

I nodded, pulling it out of my bra and handing it to him very nonchalantly. I've grown very accustomed to boys in my time on earth. Dean took it between his index finger and his thumb, wrinkling his face in disgust. To my amazement, he whipped a handkerchief out of his sleeve and wiped off my cell phone.

"Are you joking?" "You called my meeting your mother unmitigated - I don't want your boob sweat." I rolled my eyes, "God, you're a baby." Ignoring my insult, Dean flipped the phone open and called Sam, "Sam? Yeah, Carden saw the guy - it's the Trickster. Yeah, I know what I have to do, I'll be on the look out."

"Carden-" I punched Dean in the arm, hard, "-If you punch me one more time, I'll throw you into the lake," he obviously changed what he was going to say. "If you call me Carden one more time, I'm going to kill you." "What's so bad about being called Carden?" "What's so bad about calling me Carrie," I questioned him conversely.

Dean scowled, "I'm going to go and try to find the Trickster so I can make him take us back." "Whoa," I grabbed his arm, "And what do I do if he comes for me?" "You don't end things with 'eth,'" Dean replied sarcastically, shaking me off his arm and turning.

"Um, that was _your_ mistake," I called after him. "Just hold him 'til I get back," Dean yelled, taking a turn and disappearing out the side of my property. I sighed, blowing some stray hairs out of my face, _Smooth, Carrie, real smooth. Finally get along with him for one second and then just stab all that in the eye. Real proud of myself. He's a jackass._

* * *

I paced the back hallway in front of the stairs where I was supposed to enter in a few minutes to my coming out party. Around me, my silver dress swooshed in a way that was unnatural to all the other girls. The moment I saw my dress I cut out the hoop skirt under-part, leaving it to hang freely to my ankles.

My mother had a cow, but I think I look absolutely gorgeous. I feel like a princess.

_I don't care about my coming out party,_ I repeated to myself, _I really, really don't care. Damn, Dean better be there._ Last I'd been informed, Mr. Winchester was not waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs like he was supposed to be. My mother told me it was what I got for expecting one of those improper boys to accompany me.

Of course, I don't really care. I did go to my prom - going with bruises all over because four days ago you were in the Florida Everglades jumping a demonic sea-serpent that had already chewed through another slayer like rawhide still counts as going.

A servant, who I'd come to know as Bradley, appeared at the end of the hallway, "Miss Adair, your mother says that if we wait any longer, all the gentlemen will leave." "Is Mr. Winchester here yet?" "No." I sighed, obviously not disappointed, "Then the men can wait."

Did I mention I'm wearing a tiara? Really, this is better than prom, but I don't care.

Bradley smirked, taking a step closer to me and into the shadows of the hallway, "I was hoping you'd say that." _Oh shit. Is there rape in the eighteen hundreds? Am I allowed to beat him up, or will I get in trouble?_ But when he took another step forward into flickering candlelight, his face had changed.

I gasped, "What did you do with Dean?" "He'll be at the foot of the stairs waiting for you when you open those doors." "Take us back." The Trickster smirked at me, "You don't want to go back." I was silent, and he continued, "You'll be back before the end of the ball, mutt and all."

I eyed him, "Promise." "I didn't send you here as a joke - I sent you here to give you guys a push in the right direction." My brow furrowed, "Huh?" "Just... give Dean a chance. He's a good guy with a good heart and a hard life. You two are more alike than you think."

And with that, the Trickster disappeared. I chewed on my lip as his voice echoed through the hallway, "Just enjoy it. Life if getting worse from here on out." "Miss Adair," The real Bradley called from the opposite end of the hallway, and I turned to face him, "Mr. Winchester has arrived. You will be announced any moment."

I nodded, "Thank you." Bradley disappeared with a bow, and I faced forward, taking calming breaths as the music playing in the ballroom stopped. The Trickster's words were repeating themselves in my ears, and I wondered if that was the Trickster's doing.

True to his word, when the doors were opened and I was announced, Dean was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, lacy and dirty. Mindful of my balance, I descended the picturesque stairway to hook arms with Dean. He leaned down to whisper in my ear, "No luck with the Trickster."

We turned, our hands meeting in the middle of the dance floor, "Oh, I found him already." "What," Dean hissed, "Where is he?" "He's gone - he promised to have us back by the end of this thing." "Why didn't you stake him?" "Why would I? You specifically told me to just hold him, and how do we get out of this if I kill him? Besides," I shrugged, "I think he did this to try and help us out, somehow."

"Look at me," Dean hissed, leading me around the dance floor effortlessly, "You're telling me lace and frills will help me win a war against demons?" "Alright, that's just hilarious. But the general experience is for our own good." I paused for a second, considering a change in subject, "Since when do you ballroom dance?"

Dean's brow furrowed, and he looked at the orchestra, "Since when is REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" from the eighteen hundreds and classical?" I jaw dropped as I realized that Dean was right - the first song I was dancing to as an eligible lady was, indeed, "Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore."

_Now, Trickster, how does that help me out at all? You can't possibly be insinuating..._

The song ended at that moment, leaving me to shake the insinuations out of my head. Dean looked down at me awkwardly, "So, what do I do now? I've... I've never really been an escort." My brow furrowed, "Didn't you go to prom?" Dean's brow furrowed, "Prom? What's that?"

My jaw dropped, "You-" Dean laughed, "No, I know what prom is. Just didn't go." "Well, this is normally the part where you get me punch." "There's food," Dean started to look around wildly, and I laughed at him, "Only you, Dean. Only you."

Dean grabbed my hand, "Well, hell, let's get punch." I laughed as he pulled me along the dance floor, a feeling distinctly opposed by a sudden tug at my stomach. Instinctually, I looked over my shoulder to see the Trickster leaning against the wall, watching me and Dean with a smug look. I bit my lip, trying to beg him with my eyes, _Please don't. Not yet._

He nodded, and the next thing I realized Dean and I were drinking, quite seriously, punch. Dean smiled as he picked up an appetizer, "Well, suddenly, this eighteen hundreds thing just got way better." I laughed, only having a sip of my drink before someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned to see Landon, and my heart nearly stopped, "Landon." Landon's brow furrowed, "Excuse me?" "Mr. Merrow," I corrected, "How... surprising to see you here." "Yes, well, I can't say that my company doesn't look a pleasant change," Landon replied, eyeing Dean warily.

Dean, as if he realized we were talking about him, looked up at Landon, his cheek bulging with food. He smiled nervously, attempting to swallow before he said, "Hi." I rolled my eyes as, quite stereotypically, crumbs flew from his mouth, leaving me wanting to die of embarrassment and collapse laughing. Landon flinched before offering me his hand, "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me."

I glanced over my shoulder at Dean, who was once again to oblivious to everything other than hor d'oeuvres. "Yes, it would be my pleasure," I replied, taking Landon's hand and letting him lead me to the dance floor, _Thank you, Trickster._

Landon's movements weren't nearly as graceful as Dean's had been, which was actually very strange seeing as I remember Landon as being a very good dancer. My ex-boyfriend smiled at me, "Well, I really can't believe you did it, you lying whore."

"Uh, excuse me?" "I don't know how you managed to find another escort in time, but I assure you it would've looked better had you come alone." "Wh-" And then Landon's eyes flashed the yellow-gold. _Azazel._ I nearly screamed as I dropped his hands and stepped away from him, but he just took be back into his arms forcefully, throwing me around the dance floor, "Really, don't try and fight it. I've got big plans for you, my slayer. Big plans."

"Dean," I screamed, pinned to the demon's chest. I pounded against it, attempting to squirm out of his grasp. I heard the hurried movements of, hopefully, Dean. And then, Azazel let go of me, and Dean instead held me in his arms, "Trickster, take us back **now!"**

The next thing I knew was the swirly-black nothingness that had swallowed us in the first place, the feeling that someone was trying to pull out my belly button, and then the pain of falling onto the forest floor.


	11. Bunch of Geeks

"I hate that Trickster," Dean declared, rolling off me, "You should've killed him when you had the chance." "I didn't have the chance - I was completely defenseless." "You could've whittled something," Dean replied smartly as I heard the distinct jingle of Phantom's tags.

I groaned as Phantom started to lick my face, "See, who we should be blaming is Phantom. I love this dog, but I hate him right now very intensely." "If I could hate your dog anymore, I would." Pushing Phantom off me, I looked around. I didn't remember what the forest looked like where I had fallen in, but I could hear the distinct sound of speeding cars honking their horns not too far away.

"What were you even screaming about? I'd think you were in heaven, dancing with Prince Charming and all," Dean questioned, propping himself up on his elbows and patting his pockets. He pulled out his cell phone as I muttered my reply, "It wasn't Landon; it was Azazel."

Dean looked at me for a long moment, but I couldn't meet his eyes. I knew he was giving me that 'I-told-you-the-Trickster-was-bad-news' kind of look, and I didn't want to bother with that. I'd have to come up with a retort, and that was honestly too much trouble.

Sighing obnoxiously, he stood up, pressing his phone to his ear, "Sammy? Yeah, Carden and I are back." I kicked Dean in the shin angrily, and we glared at each other for a moment, "Great, thanks." He shoved his phone in his pocket before reaching down to offer me his hand, "Let's go, princess."

I glared at his hand before jumping up on my own, grabbing Phantom's leash and letting him pull me towards the road. At least, I hope he's going for the road. If I fall into another portal headed for Trickster-land I might just give him up for adoption.

* * *

I groaned, simultaneously smirking at Dean, "Deanie-boo, my leg hurts." "Carden," Dean growled, staring hard at himself in the mirror, "What did I say about calling me-" His jaw tightened, and the veins in his neck popped out, "'Deanie-boo.'" "What did I say about calling me 'Carden,'" I replied nonchalantly. After another day of violence, I'd decided a week ago to fight fire with calling Dean 'Deanie-boo.'

You'd think it would have worked by now - there have been a multitude of hot girls who have passed him by when I said the name obnoxiously loudly. But no, he's still calling me Carden, because that's how obscenely stubborn and asinine he is.

Sam smirked from behind his computer at our fighting, shaking his head as Dean slammed the bathroom door shut to continue his shaving in peace, "You two might just be the worst roommates ever." "He's just an archetypical, idiot, wish-he-were-sexy-and-capable hunter; I'm a fine room. I've got roommates to testify."

The youngest Winchester looked at me, his eyes lighting up briefly before he settled back into his chair, "Roommates from your slaying school days?" I sucked at my teeth, "I don't remember if I had any." "Huh?" "I was talking about my high school and college roommates," I explained. Sam shook his shaggy brown hair at me, "No, no, how can you not know if you had a roommate during your training?"

"They erased everything other than the sound of my teachers giving lessons before I left," I responded, "Names, faces, locations, the whole deal." Sam's eyebrows raised in disbelief, "Why would they do that?" "Security reasons - if we can't remember it, then if a demon possesses us or casts a spell on us, we don't breech security. I remember technique and all my actual lessons, but none of the people, teachers, none of my friends. I know untraceable phone numbers for contact purposes, too."

"That... kind of sucks," Sam said, obviously amazed at my upbringing. I shrugged, "That's being a slayer. Even if I remembered my friends, I couldn't visit them. I can't even list all the risks that would entail." "How did," Sam leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees as he attempted to verbalize his question, "Can you remember how they trained you?" _Why the sudden questions, Sammy-boy?_ Nonetheless, Sam looked too innocent to deny.

"Well, they come for you when you're ten. They give you a warning, explain the universe, give you some optional exercises for preparation, that kind of stuff. Then at sixteen they start you on non-intensive training until you're twelve, at some boarding school. I got summers off, I remember. That's followed by intensive training, which was year round, from thirteen to sixteen. Then at sixteen they give you a watcher and a region to patrol, working minimally. Then after high school they let you go to wherever you want, and they give you missions. That goes on until you're twenty-five, when you officially retire."

"And didn't you once mention training in magic," Sam trailed off, and so I continued for him, "Teenagers who seem to posses unusual talent in magic are trained from fourteen to seventeen, and used as needed. They teach everyone some basic magic, but Latin class covered most of what we needed to know."

The door opened perfectly on time, Dean walking out whistling, "What are you pretty birds talking about?" "My training," I replied, grabbing my latest favorite book off the bedside table. Dean snorted, "Let me cut down on time - you got kicked out for a bad attitude."

I quietly continued to suck at my teeth, leaving Sam to gape as he put two and two together while Dean attempted to figure out my lack of wit, "Pain got your tongue?" "No." "Dog got your tongue?" I shook my head and flipped the page.

"You couldn't have gotten expelled - you're a slayer." I shook my head again, confirming Dean's assumption, "I wasn't expelled." "Then why no comeback? You always have a comeback, you never shut up." "Because at fifteen I was kicked out of the boarding program and became the only student to be home-schooled."

The weight shifted as Dean sat on the bed, my feet falling casually against his back, "Huh?" "You got kicked out," Sam continued. "Not kicked out in general - they can't kick you out in general. But yeah, at fifteen I was sent to be trained at home."

"But, why?" I shrugged, "I'm not allowed to know specifics. I got into a fight with some girl - it's no big deal." "Yeah, just... out of character," Dean said, standing and walking back to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

I wrinkled my nose, "What's his deal?" "I don't know," Sam said, staring at the door oddly. "So, how did you guys get into the business," I questioned, giving up on the book and throwing it towards my suitcase. Phantom jumped onto my bed as Sam told the Winchester story, "Well, my mom was killed by Yellow Eyes, Azazel, and my dad was obsessed with killing him. We spent our whole lives tracking him down and killing him."

"Didn't you ever want to get out," I questioned, glancing at my toe nails and making a mental note to paint them in the car. How much would **that** annoy Dean? "I did get out, graduated college, and Azazel killed my girlfriend for it," Sam said, his eyes falling towards the not-so-intricate pattern on the rug.

I sucked in a breath, "And you thought my life was bad." "At least I can remember it," Sam smirked back and I shrugged in return, "I'm comforted by the knowledge that it was probably really boring." "You know it wasn't, though." "Shut up."

Picking at the comforter, I looked up at Sam after a few minutes, he was typing away on his laptop, "What about Dean? Did he..." "Dean's been with my father the whole time. Never once tried to leave." "And your dad..." "My dad traded his life for Dean's after a car accident," Sam said, getting much quieter and tapping his laptop's mouse pad unnecessarily hard.

Once again the master of timing, Dean walked back in, glancing between me and Sam, "What? What happened? Why does it sound like a morgue in here?" Sam shrugged, "No reason. Hey, I think I found us a new case," Sam offered, spinning the laptop to face his brother.

Dean leaned onto the table, reading the screen, "Florida, aye? What's happening in Florida?" "Old people are disappearing from their retirement homes and showing up partially eaten," Sam responded, and I wrinkled my nose, "Ew, Sam, that's gross."

"What are we thinking, then? Werewolf? Cult? That weird clown thing?" "Hannibel Lector," I offered comically. Dean shot me a look, and I shrugged, "I thought it was funny." "Florida is some drive, Sammy," Dean said, shaking his head. We were in Oklahoma, currently, just outside of Tulsa. I had no idea how long it would take, but I guess Sam had already figured it out, "Seventeen hours."

Dean nodded, "We'll leave after breakfast, then." Sam smiled tightly, turning his computer back towards him and slapping it shut. "Carden, go take a shower, you smell," Dean said randomly, moving towards his things. I smiled, moving to pack my own things, "But Deanie-boo, you're so attracted to filth, and I want to bang you so badly."

Dean glanced over at me, his brow furrowing, "Yeah, yeah."

* * *

"So, you're quiet," Dean commented, glancing at me in the rearview mirror before turning his gaze back to the highway. "I'm reading," I responded. Dean laughed, "No, really, what are you doing back there?" "Reading Billy Collins poetry," I said, annoyed, "I want to be an English teacher, you know."

Dean's brow furrowed, and Sam glanced back at me, "Billy Collins?" "You know him," I questioned. Sam would be the one to know him. Dean would be the one to enjoy listening to Bill Murray's introduction of him, though. "No, but I heard he's pretty good."

Dean pfted, and my jaw dropped, "Excuse me?" "How can you read poetry? Gives me a headache, all the senseless metaphors. Life isn't metaphors, life is much less complicated." I snorted, "You've obviously never read Billy Collins."

"Don't need to. All poets are the same," Dean replied, not bothered. I sucked at my teeth for a moment before starting to read defiantly, _See if this is boring, Dean fuck-up-my-dreams Winchester._

"You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the and the marsh birds suddenly in flight." "See? Metaphors, all of it, they don't make sense."

I continued, speaking over Dean determinedly, "However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums on the counter, or the house of cards. And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. There is just no way you are the pine-scented air. It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, maybe even the pigeon on the general's head, but you are not even close to being the field of cornflowers at dusk."

Sam was snorting at Dean's reaction, letting me start on the last bit of the poem, "And a quick look in the mirror will show that you are neither the boots in the corner nor the boat asleep in the boathouse. It might interest you to know, speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, that I am the sound of rain on the roof. I also happen to be the shooting star, the evening paper blowing down an alley, and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman's tea cup. But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife. You are still the bread in the knife. You will always be the bread in the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and - somehow- the wine."

Sam openly laughed at Dean as we sped down the highway towards Florida, "God, I'm surrounded by a bunch of geeks."


	12. Harpy: Fact or Fiction?

Sorry the last one was out so late, guys. I could have sworn I put it up. I mean, I had it written and uploaded. Anyway, really sorry.

Love you guys.

* * *

"Florida summer heat is stifling," I declared, sitting atop a copy machine. "Great," Dean muttered, his brow furrowed as he hunched over some loud, whirring machine. "I just can't believe that you've been working this gig since you were sixteen and you don't have any fake badges."

"I don't do the research - I get assigned a mission, I go, I hunt, I kill. I don't need fake IDs or passes or illegal means." Dave gave one decisive 'pft' before smiling and holding something to the sunlight filtering through the window, "Perfect."

"What?" Dean walked passed me, dropping the card in my lap, "I just hope they buy your wardrobe. All the stuff you brought and now pants suit." I held the ID up, reading it and simultaneously ignoring Dean's comment, i Agent Michelle Scully of Animal Control./i I scoffed, "Does this really work?" "Oh yeah." "But Dean, doesn't Animal Control use badges?" Dean paused, "We'll tell them there was a change in policy because badges were being stolen so often." "Does that really work?" "Oh yeah, most of the time."

**"Most** of the time?" "Just follow my lead. I can't believe Sammy left me with you." "Hey, hey, I am the worst researcher-of-demons on this Earth. I'm a much better actress." I glanced down at the ID in my hand, "And I swear, Dean, if I go to jail for this-" "Yeah, yeah." Dean rolled his eyes as he stepped outside onto the sidewalk. I continued anyway, "I won't do well in jail, Dean. I am small and blonde and angry and they would eat me."

Dean smirked as he stepped around towards the baby's driver door, "I've been to jail. You'd be fine, if you don't count the guards. The guards would want you dead." "You've been to jail?" "Oh yeah," Dean said, "For a ghost problem." I smiled as I slipped into the car next to him, "That doesn't count." "Yes it does! It was an undercover gig, I was really in jail for that week." "And I'm really Animal Control." Dean laughed as he sped towards the retirement home.

* * *

Dean smiled charmingly at the receptionist, a thin redhead with glasses and large teeth. "Hi, we're here about the disappearing residents? Agents Scully and Mulder." He flashed his ID, and I did the same. The receptionist's brow furrowed behind the glasses frame, "The police were already here." "They sent us over to look for signs of an animal attack."

"I think we would have noticed if th-" "There have been reports of a wild bear being seen in the area, otherwise we would trust your judgment. We'll need to look around the property." The receptionist glanced between me and Dean, "Alright, I guess that'll be fine." "We'll need a list of the rooms from which people have disappeared in the last year."

"Smooth," I whispered to Dean as he and I walked down the hallway, where the receptionist told us a woman disappeared from last week, "You set some lead to follow." "Oh, shut up, I could bat my eyelashes and have that girl in bed the next minute." "She'd be sadly disappointed," I replied, smiling up at him cheekily.

"You're a bitch," Dean hissed after me as I stepped into the room, easily distinguishable by the caution tape x-ing across the doorway. "I'd be bitchier if I go to jail," I responded easily, and Dean sighed, "You won't go to jail, now stop talking and start searching."

I stood in the middle of the room, "So, what am I searching for, exactly?" Dean sighed as he started to search the drawers of the old woman's desk, "Something, anything, that will tell us what this thing is that's taking old people." "Could you repeat that, cause that onslaught of information was just overwhelming." "Shut up and look."

Sighing, I stepped forward to the window to glance outside, _Oh, that might help._ "Dean, I found something." He mimicked my earlier action, sighing and walking towards the window, "Of course you did. Cause you're frickin' Jesus." "I know, right," I responded, smiling with pride as Dean leaned outside the window. "Claw prints."

"Uh huh, I found claw prints. It's an animal." "Oh really? Then how did it get in?" "It... climbed." "And they just cleaned the crime scene," Dean responded, gesturing around, "There's no dirt. Creatures track in dirt. The claw prints just mean some animal was standing outside at some point or another." "They mean something!"

I sighed, _Oh, ruin my parade, Dean! Stomp all over my accomplishments._ Unbothered by my mental-complaints, Dean made his way back towards the desk. "What can you find out in a desk?" "A diary," Dean replied, "To see if she was seeing anything weird."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm going to go check the next room. You keep fiddling around in here, don't worry about me." The last part was sarcastic, as I could tell Dean wasn't listening. As soon as I stepped into the hall, I realized that I was surrounded by gaping old people. Their stereotypical smell overwhelmed me quickly, and I had to try and figure out what to do.

"Uh, uh, it's nothing, folks, just animal control, doing a routine crime-scene check up." Dean stumbled out of the room at the sound of my voice, "We'd like all those who were close with the deceased to stay behind for a standard interview. Everyone else, there is nothing to see."

Everyone grumbled before shuffling back to their room, leaving behind a dozen timid looking men and women. I looked at Dean, "Witnesses?" "They can break a case for you," Dean replied. "You take the women, I'll take the men." "Oh, that's sexist." "You want the men?"

I glanced over at the men, many of whom were eying up my backside. I nodded, "No, no, you can have the men." "Thought so," he turned towards the group, "Alright, men, if you could please follow me." "Dean," I grabbed his arm, "Where am I supposed to interview them?" Dean shrugged my arm off, staring for a moment at where my hand had been, "Figure it out."

And with that, he walked down the hall, akin to a tour guide. The old men hobbled after him, leaving me with five women, ranging in ages. I smiled, "Well, uh, I understand this is a hard time for you. Where would _you_ like to do the interview?"

I smiled, hoping that this would work. Of course, immediately each woman said that they felt most comfortable in their own apartment, told me where to find them, and started to walk off. I sighed, _Do they really expect me to remember them barking numbers at me?_

"If you could all just hold on and repeat where you will be, one at a time," I reached into the purse, thankful that I kept a small notebook on me at all times. I jot them all down, grabbing the last one and walking with her, interviewing her at the same time.

She lived just down the hall, and hunched over her walker as I asked her questions, "Which of the deceased were you friends with?" "All of them," she replied, standing straighter in a vain attempt to look more dignified. It wasn't vain because she didn't look dignified - she had a dignified enough aura. She was one of those women you respected immediately.

"Would you describe any of them as being delusional or seeing things?" "Nope, they were all perfectly normal." I nodded, "You're sure they didn't see anything?" The woman, whose name sounded something like 'carp,' shot me a look, and I caught myself, "Any animals or visions of death?" "You know, she did say she saw Robert." "She?" "Pricilla, the last one taken."

I leaned against carp's doorframe, chewing my lip thoughtfully at her, "Taken?" "Yes." "Why would you say taken?" "They were eaten, weren't they? Besides I heard some awful noises the night Prissy was taken." "What kind of noises?" "Screeching, almost like a bird or something. I looked outside, but the only bird I saw was a good deal away. Loud bird, big bird, never heard it before that night." "And you think the bird took your friend?"

"Well, the police hate to rule out animal attack, especially due to the gruesome nature of the murders. That's why they sent me." _Actually, you've got me thinking..._ "I just remember it so clearly. Strange bird, big bird, very loud." I nodded, "But you said she saw Robert? Who is Robert?" "Robert was her husband. Died in some war 

back before she came here. Swore he was standing outside her window just two weeks ago." "Two weeks ago today?"

The woman nodded, and I smiled politely, "Well, I think that'll be it. Thank you for your cooperation." "Big bird," the woman muttered, shaking her head.

In my head, something about the bird stuck in my head. As an after thought, and to confirm that I hadn't seen the paw print Dean had so carelessly dismissed as inconsequential, I ducked back into the room and leaned out the window, my jaw dropping.

_How did I not realize that?! Oh my god, oh my god-_ "Dean!" I caught myself as I started to run out the door, _Wait, hold on, what's his name again?_ "Mulder," I started to run off in the direction he went, sliding to a stop by the receptionist, "What is behind this retirement home?"

"Regional Retirement home hosts a plethora of outdoor activities, inclu-" She had obviously rehearsed the speech, but I cut her off, "No, no, I mean past that. Woodlands? Swamp?" "There is a rather large forest out there, yes." "Thank you," I said, running off after Dean.

"Mulder, MULDER! I've got it, Mulder, stop the interviews!" Dean leaned his head out of a doorway, "Scully?" "Yeah, yeah," I replied, grasping the doorframe, "I know what did it. I figured it out, I'm a _genius!"_ "And what did you figure?" I took Dean by the wrist, dragging him towards an empty arts and crafts room and closing the door behind us, "Harpies!"

"Harpies?" "Harpies did it! I know it's unconventional, but I believe firmly that Harpies did and have exist, just not in the form that we believe they would." "What do you mean Harpies exist? Harpies are the legendary lap-dog of Zeus. They don't exist."

"Oh no, Dean, they evolved, they left." It's a little known fact that I am a little obsessed with Harpies. According to the school, they don't exist, but I swear I've seen one. They're like people with wings and a bird bottom half. Of course, it occurs to me now that they can probably shape-shift their upper half to tempt their human prey!

"The print, the print outside, it's a bird-foot print, but it's HUGE! It's a harpy. Miss Carp-" "Carp?" "Or Clark, or Parp, or something like that. Anyway, her name isn't important, what's important is she heard a large bird on the night of the last woman's disappearance but, by the time she got to the window, the bird was already over the forest heading for it's lair! The woman told her that she'd been seeing her dead husband outside the window!"

"How does seeing your husband's ghost coincide with Harpies? Wouldn't a Rakshasa be more likely? You know, Hindu creature that eats people and can take the form of anything?" "But then why would she hear a squawk? Dean, the Harpy makes sense!" "The Harpy isn't real!"

I didn't realize how close we were until I accidently inhaled Dean's angry exhale. He glared down at me, "They just don't exist, alright? God, first Sam and angels and now you and Harpies - do you two just want more things eating people?" "Angels don't eat people," I responded, taking the much-needed step back.

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair, "You really think it's this Harpy thing?" "Yes," I replied, taking a firm stance before deciding instead to resort to begging, "Please, Dean, you know it makes sense." I finished off with a decisive pout.

Dean groaned, "I'm getting soft. Alright, we'll talk to Sam and if it fits with his research, then we'll go hunt the Harpy tonight." "Yay," I exclaimed, jumping up and hugging him. _Why am I hugging him? Not like I needed his permission._

But I was kind of glad that Dean decided to admit to maybe believing me one day, and not just because it's another soul who will continue with me on a quest to prove Harpies are real. No, it was something more than that, something I decided not to meditate on the entire ride back.


	13. Ignorance is Bliss

So, this one has a major cliffhanger, and I feel like Carrie is being dramatic but she's getting the job done. :)

* * *

"Deanie-boo, you're awfully slow at patrolling," I whispered good-naturedly at him as I ducked under a branch. "Sorry I'm not genetically programmed for hunting." I rolled my eyes, despite the fact that he couldn't see it, "I'm not genetically programmed - I'm naturally inclined. Get it straight." Obviously, I'm in a great mood.

And really, why shouldn't I be? Sam said Harpies made more sense than those Rashakasa-mabobs, since the Shake-your-bon-bons would probably be an employee and none of the employees have ever been associated with any murders, even if the murders happen at the home every twenty-seven years.

So now the three of us are searching the forest for a possible lair. A **HARPY** lair! With one guy who is open-minded to the possibility of a Harpy and Dean. Thank God there's only one Dean, because he is complaining like I've never heard him complain before. I don't even know what he's complaining about - he didn't have to come. I was perfectly content letting him sulk at the motel. _Sulking because of my VICTORY!_

"Well, you guys, I think my flashlight is out of battery. I'll just have to go get some fresh batteries from the car. Dean, can I borrow your flashlight for the way back?" Sam was at the back of our little crew, and I could hear him hit his flashlight against his palm. "Dude, you don't need your own flashlight, just get between me and Ca-" "No, no, I need my own. Just cuddle up and enjoy."

"Sam!" "Shh," I hissed, honestly ignoring everything that didn't pertain to the Harpy. I felt Dean press closer to me as the sound of Sam crashing through the underbrush faded away. I turned on the brother sharply, only half-remembering what Sam had said, "De-" "I need to see," Dean held up his hands innocently, "Trust me - I'd never get so close otherwise. Your body physically repels mine." "And what is that supposed to mean? That I'm not good enough for you and your three-drink lightweight whores?"

Oh, where did that come from? That was snappy, Carrie, in a very cruel, nearly-jealous way. Nearly. I don't have time to be jealous, though, when there's a Harpy on the loose. Not bothering with a reply, I turned back to face forwards, my ears peeled for any movement. Dean didn't share my desire for silence, though, and started to talk a few minutes later.

"So, why the obsession with Harpies?" "Uh, they're half-bird, half-human. Why wouldn't I be obsessed with them?" "Their genealogy can't be the only reason." _Oh my god, Dean used a big boy word!_ Dean continued, mindless to the bragging rights he'd just earned by being smart, "Come on, we've been to a coming out and back. Talk to me." "When I talk, I can't hear the Harpy sneaking up to kill us." "Multi-tasking should be w-" "Who are you two and what are you doing on my land?"

Dean and I turned simultaneously, still stuck front-to-back, squinting at the flashlight shining in our eyes. "Uh-" "My name is Homer, and this is my cousin Medusa," Dean lied easily. _Medusa? Oh, he's just lost whatever points he earned by having a brain._ "We're looking for little Medusa's dog; we think he ran away when he saw her in her underoos." Dean wrapped an arm tightly around my neck, smiling jokingly at the man with a rifle that I think we all need to be more concerned about.

I shrugged Dean's strong arm off me, trying to keep in character and fight with him as much as possible, "Or he caught a whiff of your morning breath." "You two are looking for a runaway dog in the forest, in the middle of the night?" "Homer here is scared of the sunlight. Think's it's the alien's way of tracking us." Dean slapped my butt unappreciatively, "She's such a jokester. No, no, Medusa's job as a stripper keeps her out all day, working the unpopular shift so she doesn't lose her club money. Dad just doesn't have the heart to fire her."

_Well, God Dean - how do you expect me to succeed as a stripper when you give me the name Medusa to work with? Do you realize it's the most unattractive name known to man?_ The man looked between the two of us, obviously trying to figure out who was crazier, and who he should shoot first, "What does your dog look like?" "Oh, he's just the cutest little hound you've ever seen. Brindled, white spots on his paw, named TOMMY!"

Tommy had wandered off just a few minutes ago, right before this oaf with a deed to the forest came along. My puppy would come to the sound of me screaming his name like I was about to be shot, and this guy can go back to his beat-up recliner, six pack, and infomercials… and I can find a Harpy.

Cruel, but apparently my good Harpy-hunting mood also includes increased impatience. Not that I'm patient by nature anyway, but I can usually bite my tongue, grit my teeth, and wait in the line for the lady's room. But now, this is just… ridiculous. I mean, does anyone here realize the importance of discovering a Harpy? It's kind of on my list of things to do before I die, which in my line of work could happen anytime, so let's get chopping.

Whether or not Tommy realized this, he was at my side post haste. I smiled as I took a firm hold of his collar, "Well, I guess we'll just be out of your hair, thanks for your property." I turned in the opposite direction of the man, and I had slipped out of the line of light within moments.

I could hear Dean smile and try to trade pleasantries behind me, apologizing for waking the guy and all. Like Dean has manners or something. Psh, he probably just wants to throw in a crack about me being a bad stripper again, or something.

Dean, in Tommy fashion, was at my side again in a matter of moments, picking through the underbrush next to me in quiet until we were sure we were alone. "I'm scared of the sunlight?" "My name is Medusa," I questioned. Dean smirked, "I thought that was clever! You know, Homer, Medusa, Harpies, Sam could have been Illiad!" "I don't think the Illiad had anything to do with Harpies... or Medusa." "Oh, come on!"

I smirked at Dean's mishap, "It was a good try, Dean. I would have been very impressed if you could keep all those crazy Greek myths straight in your head." "What did Harpies do?" "Harpies were... Jason and the Argonauts, so Medea might have been more fitting. Or you could have gone the Phineas route." "See, you keep them straight." "I'm obsessed with Harpies - I have to know the legends. It's like asking me why I know self-defense - it's a job requirement."

I quickly shook off the fact that Dean just _almost_ complimented me and concentrated on our surroundings. Where was Sam with that flashlight? It shouldn't have taken him to long, and it's not like these woods are so huge he wouldn't be able to hear us. Dean isn't very good at the whole sneaking idea. He kind of tromps around in these unnecessarily big boots and mutters a lot.

Every now and then, I get the feeling that Dean is actually muttering about killing me. Well, I'm pretty sure there are mutters about me thrown in there randomly, but I think the main focus of the actual muttering is 'how to kill Carrie,' mostly because I'm pretty sure the word 'blood' and something beginning with 'c' is coming up a lot. And do I think this 'c' word is cadaver? No I do not.

Of course, I've got the attention span of a mosquito, and quickly started to hum the song 'Blood' by My Chemical Romance, which made Dean quite obviously tense. "What the hell are you doing?" "Humming," I responded. "Are you humming songs from your Barbershop Quartet?" "No, now shush." "You're the one humming!" "How are we fighting about this?!"

"Just don't hum." "Yes, boss-sir-scum-butt," I replied, stepping ahead of him. Again, there was silence, aside from Dean's stomping. He sighed in an almost ornate way every few minutes, as if woe was him. _He really, truly didn't have to come. Maybe he needs an invitation next time. Dear Dean, you are cordially invited to __**not**__ go hunting with __Carrie__ and Sam - just stay with me and watch cheap porn. Or cry because you're so fugly. Sincerely, the motel room._

"Card-" I turned, my leg lashing out and aiming for Dean's barely five-foot-ten head. He ducked, straightening to reveal his angry, slightly shocked face, "Jesus frickin' Christ, what the hell was that for?!" "Call me-" I paused, _How well does sound carry in this particular forest?_ I shot Dean a meaningful look, **"Medusa** one more time and I'll leave you for dead, strung by your thumbs!"

"I was trying to apologize for being weird about the humming, and you try to kick me in the face? And all that means I get to be strung up by my thumbs?" "Stop calling me Medusa and we won't have this problem!" "I wasn't saying anything about Me-" Dean's voice died as he realized what I was talking about.

You'd think at the mention of the problem we've been having all summer, he'd realize that it was totally alright for me to kick him in the face. Not just alright, but expected. I've tried violence before, who says I can't give it another shot?

But, because Dean isn't any kind of logical, his brow furrowed more and he started to yell louder, "Are you serious? You're still hung up on that? My god, you just embody every kind of stereotype about women. See, girls like you are why I don't date - you're overdramatic, violent, picky, obsessive, completely and totally blind, hypocritical-"

"Excuse me, I'm blind? Of the two of us, I'm the blind one? You said that a print outside a recently **eaten** woman's window had no bearing on our case, but I'm blind and stupid." "I never said you were stupid, Card-"

My foot lashed out again in a spin kick, which this time Dean was prepared for. His arm went up to block it naturally, and he threw it to the ground before using the momentum to try and punch me. _Oh no, he didn't,_ I thought to myself as I in turn ducked, reaching out to kick Dean's feet out from under him.

This, though, if my most-used move, and apparently it was just another hit Dean had prepared for. He dove out for me, pinning me to the ground underneath his weight. I could feel his boots digging into my calf painfully, and growled at him accordingly.

The next few seconds were a fight for my arms, which I sadly lost. I mean, it would've been amazing to win in my position, even if I am a slayer. Really - I'm a short lightweight compared to Dean, and he's on top of me. Wait, Dean's on top of me? How did I **not** realize this?

I struggled, but Dean just sat on me, smirking, "You know, Card-" "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter right now Dean Winchester!" "I mean, you just let me on top so easy and all, I always thought you'd be a firecracker-" "Don't you dare finish that sentence, or I swear I'll start calling you Laverne!" I started to hit at Dean's chest, causing him to flinch but still not move.

Groaning in frustration, "Sam! Tommy!" "Carrie?" "Oh thank god, Sam, you're here. Get your bro-" I looked over Dean's shoulder at the flashlight that was shining in my eye, my jaw dropping as the light moved and revealed the owner. I stuttered in the most embarrassing way possible, the embarrassment compounded with the fact that Dean was straddling me.

"L-L-L-Landon?"


	14. Not my Watcher

Alright, so it was a day late. I had it written last night, but I wanted to make sure there were no typos. There have been a lot of typos in my stories recently, but no more!

PS I hate this chapter for what I had to do. It makes me sad.

* * *

"Carrie," my ex-boyfriend questioned, his brow furrowing and his flashlight distorting my vision. "Landon, oh my God!" I pushed Dean off me easily, being that he was just as shocked as I was. It occurred to me that the fact that Dean was on top of me just might piss Landon off, but what did that really matter? He'd tried to find me! Hell, he had found me! He cared!

I threw myself at him, latching my arms around his neck and inhaling deeply. He smelled like… soap. But not the soap he used to use - this soap smelled weird, abrasive. _Maybe it's an Italy-thing. He'll go back to his old smell eventually._

"Landon, Landon, oh my… what are you doing here? How did you get here?" "Oh Carrie, I missed you," Landon replied, wrapping his arms around my waist and squeezing much more tightly than he'd ever been capable of before. Good thing I'm not as fragile as he thinks I am.

My heart skipped a beat, and not just from lack of oxygen, "You… what?" Sure, I'd thought it, but I never thought he'd admit it! "I missed you, Carrie. Italy was just boring without you to be witty and angry." I smiled, turning back to Dean and sticking my tongue out, "See, I told you some guys would like my rage and sarcasm." "And to think I doubted you," Dean replied stonily, still sitting where I'd pushed him into the dirt.

"What I want to know, Carrie, is why you are in the middle of the woods, in Florida, with this monkey you call a man." I bit my lip, glancing between an obviously perturbed Dean and 'I-missed-you' Landon, "Watch who you're calling a monkey - you're just a little boy compared to me." "Oh, I'm **much** older than I look."

I glanced over my shoulder at Dean, who suddenly took on the look of a very confused and observant donkey. He reached a hand out to me, "Ca-" "Oh, Dean, you can get yourself up." Landon shook my waist lightly, and I looked back at him.

He smiled at me playfully, "But really, Carrie, what are you doing here? This is an-" Landon looked around, eyeing the foliage and wildlife carefully, "An odd place to be spending your summer vacation." "I'll..."

I looked around, just like Landon had done, but for a completely different reason. This was one of those moments when you have to choose the course of the rest of your life. When you take destiny, throw it out the window, and say, "Fuck off! I'll do this on my own!"

Legally, I'm not allowed to tell Landon anything. The school had me sign a contract and everything. It'd be too risky, I'd be putting him in too much danger by letting him know the truth. _Which is actually ridiculous - Dean and Sam know, and they're doing just fine. Alright, so they're both eternally scarred, but still, living, loving… kind of._ I wasn't quite sure what the school would do to me if they found out that I told Landon, but then again I doubt that Landon will give me another chance if I lie to him. Hell, I don't think I have it in me to lie to him anymore. It'd just be too much, I'd break down. And who would catch me?

_Dean…_

My nose wrinkled at the thought, and I shook it immediately out of my head. I had some more important things to worry about, like whether or not to explain the world that goes on when Landon is asleep, which he's going to freak out about, and may leave me for anyway.

But then again, doesn't everyone say love is worth that risk? I've never really taken a risk with Landon - he and I were always people who played it safe. What with all the other risks in my life, I appreciated that lifestyle. _That lifestyle is about to go to hell._

"I'll tell you later… at the motel." "The motel? What are you staying in a motel for? I've got a room at the hotel in town. You and I can spend the night there and… catch up." I could feel myself swooning in his strong arms, and he smiled down at me.

God, I missed this part of having a boyfriend. The swooning, the comfort, the hotel rooms.

Really, I never appreciated the fact that Landon is just slightly loaded, and can afford hotel rooms.

Dean cleared his throat, "Um, Carden, care to introduce us?" I kicked the dirt under my feet towards Dean, "I thought you wanted to remain anonymous, Deanie-boo." "I've had a change of heart," Dean responded, a very fake smile on his face as he stood and reached out to shake Landon's hand, "Dean Winchester."

"Landon Merrow," Landon replied, shaking Dean's hand graciously. I swooned again as the word 'gracious' entered my head. Did I mention that I really, **really** missed Landon? I really, really did. A whole lot. Dean isn't as gracious as Landon is, and Sam is wrapped up in some research that he whispers to Dean about when they think I'm putting on a facial. Which is ridiculous - you can't give yourself a cucumber mask once a day. You're skin would be freakishly soft, and completely reliant on the facial for regulation. It'd be like a black spiraling hole, related to the one Dean and I fell through.

A tightened grip around my waist brought me back to reality, but there was the addition of a hand pulling on the tightened arm. "Carden, can I please talk to you for a minute?" "Whatever you say, you can say in front of Landon now, I'm not keeping secrets from him anymore." "That's my girl," Landon encouraged, smiling down at me.

"No, no, this is really important, I think-" "Oh, you think now? It's magical, how quickly my Landon has rubbed off on you." I expected a funny response, but instead got a growl, "Really, Carden, this is important."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Landon's arm fell from my waist, and I turned to cast an odd look at Dean, "W-" "Hey guys, what'd I miss," Sam questioned, appearing out of nowhere over Dean's shoulder. He smiled nervously, "Should I be running?"

"No, no, Sam, do you remember Landon?" I turned to Landon, "This is Dean's brother, Sam. I've been living with them all summer." "Hope you've been taking care of her," Landon said, leaning out and clasping Sam's hand. Sam smiled, glancing at Dean quickly, "Oh, she takes care of herself. Very… independent." "Yeah, that's my baby," Landon cooed, leaning his head onto my shoulder and pressing himself into me from behind.

"So, I'm going to go and spend the night with Landon at his hotel. We have a lot to catch up on, and it's late enough." "Uh, yeah, sure, I guess you want to look for the Harpy another night? Tomorrow night, then? Remember, there are inno-"

"Dean, I really don't want to think about work right now, so let me just go to the hotel with Landon, and we'll talk about it tomorrow." "Uh, as your," Dean paused, looking at Sam for help, "Summer protector and watcher, I don't think you should go." I rolled my eyes, "You're not my watcher, Dean. I can take care of myself." Landon's jaw tightened into a smile, "Besides, I've been her protector for much longer. I think I know how to do it better than you."

The innuendo didn't go unnoticed, and Dean's jaw tightened, "Watch it, boy." "Dean, I think Carrie can take care of herself," Sam took his brother by the arms, "We're just going to go get Dean very, very drunk." Landon's brow furrowed as he watched Dean and Sam leave in the direction of the car, two flashlights in hand, "What's wrong with the short one?" "I don't know," I replied honestly.

"Well, come on, I've got the key to the hotel room right here, we'll order room service. I think they have Chinese." "Oh, that's alright. I'm not all that hungry. If you have a coffee maker, we should make it." "Whatever you say, baby."

swoon

!!

I bit my lip as I sat cross-legged on the bed, the sun rising slowly behind me. I'd just explained everything - my story, the history of being a slayer, including the founder of my school Buffy Summers, and even threw in the summer so far and a bit of Dean and Sam's story. There had been lore, creatures, boogie-men, all those 'myths' - debunked.

And now I'm sitting here, feeling very tense and nervous, as the man I'm hoping is a part of my future chews on his lip in this adorable way I never noticed before and tries to figure out who to call first - my family, to inform them their daughter is crazy, or the mental hospital, to admit their crazy daughter. _I don't know what I'll do if he goes for the phone._

I reminded myself to think positive and be optimistic, as Landon's chewing ceased, replaced by a deep breath. "Well, it sure beats Italy." My jaw dropped, "That's it?" Landon shrugged, "I can't fight it. It all makes, well, sense. A strange, very hard-to-accept kind of sense, but sense nonetheless." "You don't think I'm crazy?"

Landon shrugged, smiling and shaking his head at me. I launched myself across the bed at him, tackling him to the ground and squeezing the life out of him. Landon laughed, "Are you going to listen to my summer, or are we just going to cut to the chase?"

"No, no, you have to tell me about your summer." I curled my legs up, laying my head on Landon's chest and getting comfortable under his arm. He still smelled like the weird Italy soap, but I was getting used to it. His legs were thrown up on the bed still, and he crossed his feet as he started to tell me all about his summer in Italy.

"Well, I was in Italy for all of a week before I realized I was a complete and total tool. I'd gone to get my mind off you, but it was so boring I couldn't stop thinking about you. Kind of counterproductive, and so I told myself that enough was enough and I came to find you."

"But your family wasn't at your house. The neighbors told me they went out of town for the summer, but one of them had heard that they went to New York. So I looked for them up there, and I found them outside New York City. They told me you were heading to Florida. It was pure luck, though, running into you in the forest. I was going around town looking for a bar, or some other grimy place that those two would probably take you, and I saw that car on the side of the road, and thought you might be in trouble. I didn't know you were mystic and everything."

I smirked, "Yeah, the baby is pretty distinctive." "The what?" "Dean's car, the baby, it's what we call her." "She has a name?" "It isn't a name." "That's foolish." My brow furrowed, _But she __is__ the baby…_

There was a knock on the door, "Carden! Open up!" I rolled my eyes, "God, he's an early riser." "I'll say, it's only six AM." "Huh," I questioned, shooting up from my bed on Landon's chest, feeling the circles under my eyes growing just from the knowledge I'd been up all night. Not that I'd never been up all night before, all-nighters are as much a job requirement as self-defense, but still, I've never been up all night talking. I feel very… connected.

"Carden, I'm pick locking the door, you better be dressed!" "Dean, I'm fine, go back to the motel," I screamed. "God, when did he go all Mother Goose," I questioned, falling back onto Landon's chest, and biting back an angry scream when I heard the door fly open.

"Carden, Carden?" _An angry scream, I can hold back. A jump kick in the face might be asking too much of me._ I jumped onto the bed, using the springs to launch myself towards Dean's face. He ducked, leaving me to crash on the floor.

He turned angrily towards me, "Whoa, I'm not that Land-on-earth guy, I'm not going to hurt you!" I glared, "I know who you are, Dean, that's why I want you out." Dean's brow furrowed, "I'm just try-" "Well, stop trying to whatever it is you think you're doing, cause you're not my watcher, you're not my parent, you aren't my brother, and you are most definitely not my boyfriend. So just stop trying to do anything for me!"

Dean glared, nearly growling again, "See, this is why I was never nice to you. You're just an ungrateful little brat." "Well then leave me alone," I screamed back at him. "Fine!" "Fine!" Dean stomped passed me, slamming the door behind him.


	15. That's That

I sighed as I gripped the wheel of Landon's rental, speeding back to the motel. Due to some mix-up that I totally blame on the hotel, Landon's credit card had been denied for another night. So now he and I are going to have to stay at the motel, with the boys. _Ew, I'm calling them 'the boys.'_

As much as I hate it, I have to go groveling back to Dean's feet for a place to stay. He gets to keep his beady little eyes on me and Landon, 24/7, unless Landon's card comes through here and we can get our own room. Our own room on the opposite side of the motel from the boys. Ha. Petulant little man-face, trying to keep tabs on me. I oughta...

I pressed down on the accelerator angrily, gritting my teeth and locking my arms in an attempt to block out all the things I wanted to do to his face. "Shh, baby," Landon cooed, "It'll be alright. He can't be that bad, can he?"

"He wasn't," I replied, tensing my bicep and imagining ramming the rental through Dean's know-it-all rear. At least I wasn't destroying his beautiful face, "He was getting to be bearable this past week. This morning was more pig-headed than when he hated Tommy." "Who could hate Tommy?" "I know, right? Oh! There's something I forgot - Tommy was given to me by the school. He's specially trained to track things that aren't of this earth and fight."

Landon shifted in his seat," Oh?" "Yeah, injected with slayer blood and everything. He's like Underdog without the goofy sweater and the ability to fly." Landon laughed quietly, "Oh? And he's good?" "He hasn't been wrong yet," I replied, smirking in pride. Tommy's like my child, only easier than an actual child.

"Well that's... nice." "Nice? It's nothing short of awesome." "Yeah, yeah, definitely." Landon shifted again in his seat. I glanced over at him, noticing his thoughtful appearance, "Are you alright?" "Yeah, yeah, I'm just..." "You aren't rethinking everything, are you?"

Oh God, no. God, that would be just plain old cruel. I haven't even had twenty-four hours of relationship-bliss! We haven't even gotten to the bliss yet! Don't do this to my poor heart...

"No, no, no." _Good._ "It's just, I've been thinking about it, in all the four hours I've known, and it just... worries me that you're fighting these monsters. And I feel better knowing that you aren't alone, even if you aren't with those... boys." I smiled, wanting to 'aw' him and not be driving so I could cuddle with him. Because really, this is such a cuddle-moment!

But instead I had to pull up to the motel, where Dean was pacing in a way that suggested he had taken to brooding. _Another time Dean has ruined a Landon-moment. Landon-moments should never be disturbed, especially after a very bad break-up, very-especially not by Dean._

A s I hopped out of the car, I heard the foretelling jingle of Phantom's tags, followed by his jumping on me in an attempt to lick my face. I giggled at him, "Did you miss me last night? Did Sam let you sleep with him?" "He slept with me, I didn't get a wink of sleep," Dean told me, "He kept growling at me in his sleep." I rolled my eyes, trying my best to be harsh and condescending, "He was just having a dream." "Your dog doesn't like me. I smell too much like demons." "That, and he has good judge of character," I replied smartly as Tommy made a bee-line for Landon, his favorite friend ever.

Tommy stopped short though, his nose stuck into the air and his tail stiff. I tensed, "Tommy, what is it, what do you smell? Track it, boy." My puppy's nose hit the ground, and he continued to walk towards Landon, smelling up his leg before sitting down and baying loudly, his eyes flashing desperately at me.

My brow furrowed, "No, Tommy, track it, don't just sit next to Landon like a lump." Tommy whined at me, smelling Landon's arm before jumping up to latch onto it, growling savagely. I screamed, "PHANTOM! BAD BOY! RELEASE! **RELEASE!**"

Dean jumped towards my dog, grabbing him around the waist and pulling as Landon screamed in pain, "Get your dog off me!" Tommy continued to bark and howl wildly as Dean pulled him off, running towards the room to lock him in the bathroom, lest someone call the front desk to let them know about the savage dog, and how it shouldn't be allowed to stay.

I ran to Landon's side, pulling his arm to my face and studying the wound. He breathed deeply, watching as Dean slammed the door shut to the motel room, "I thought you said your dog was never wrong." "He wasn't, he never has been." "Excuse me? Are you trying to tell me that I'm a demon? Because honestly, if tha-"

"No, no, no," I said, fighting my instinct to accuse Landon of being a demon and running away for my puppy. Really, my puppy is always right. Why would he have reacted that way to Landon? _What has Landon been doing that he'd smell like something not-human?_

It was then I figured it out, "Landon, you must have somehow gotten the Harpy's scent on you last night!" It wasn't just weird Italy soap. "A... what?" "A Harpy, you know, flying birds of evil hate?" "Harpies aren't real." "No, no, that was proof that they aren't! That's what we were all doing last night in the woods - looking for Harpies! No one thinks that they're real, but I know they are. They just have to be, it makes so much sense! You're proof!"

"I would like to think I'm more than just proof of your insane theories," Landon smirked at me, examining the bite mark. Phantom had barely broken skin, despite the huge scene he'd made. Sure, it was bleeding, and sure, it was going to need to be bandaged and cleaned, but I believe we all know my policies about Landon-moments.

I smiled bashfully up at him, "Of course you're more than just proof." Landon leaned down, and I held my breath, hoping that a lack of sleep hadn't given me morning breath.

"Carden, come here!" "I'm going to kill him," I muttered, letting Landon's forehead rest against mine. "Hon, I think it's a little dramatic to kill him just because he's interrupting." "No, it's not that. Well, it's a little that, but it's mostly because he's still calling me Carden."

Landon laughed as I pushed myself away from him, taking his hand and leading him towards Dean, who snatched my other hand and threw me into the hotel room, shaking me from Landon. "Dean," I shouted at him as he slammed the door shut behind him, locking Landon out.

"Dean, let him in!" "Carden, I have a theo-" I kicked at Dean, who sidestepped and let me kick the door, which sadly enough did not break down. "Damnit, Carden, I'm trying to keep you alive, now will you stop being a brat?!"

I stood in front of him, jutting my hips out and crossing my arms, "I'm a brat? At least you know why I'm freaking, you're going cuckoo over I don't know what!" "Carden," Dean took me by the arms, shaking me a little as he stepped closer, "I don't think that's Landon."

_Oh, for heaven's sake._ "You're crazy," I responded, moving to walk passed him, "Now let m-" "No, Carden, don't you see? It makes sense - some demon found out and possessed him, or something like that! Phantom smelled it on him, hell, I smell it on him!"

"Smell what? Cologne? Soap? Some other hygienic product you don't use?" Dean glared at me, "Sulfur, Carden, he smells like Sulfur." My brow furrowed, "Dean, you're crazy, just let me-" "How did he find us, Carden? Hmm? Did he track us down with his special **mortal** powers?"

"He tracked down my family and they told him I was going to Florida," I replied smartly. "Just Florida?" "I'm sure they told him the town." "And how did he find us in the forest?" "He saw your car. Dean, Landon is not a demon. Phantom just went crazy because I think Landon was close to the Harpy, or it's lair, last night." "So? The three of us smell like demon-creature-stuff all the time. Your dog doesn't attack either of you."

I 'pshed' him, "Dean, quit being a baby, he doesn't attack you." "And yet he attacked Landon!" "Because... he isn't used to Landon smelling like that, or something." "So if it's just a smell, have Landon take a shower, then we'll see." "Dean, we aren't experimenting with my boyfriend!"

"That's another thing. He was so pissed at you last time, and then he went off to Italy, and then he's magically back here." "It isn't magic, Dean. Some people aren't afraid of flying," I smirked at him. Dean's brow shot up and Dean turned to Sam, who was sitting on his bed, "You told her?" Sam shrugged, typing a few words into his laptop, "She asked about some of the things we killed. It came up." "Dude, why would you tell her?!"

"Focus," I cut in, "My boyfriend isn't a demon!" "Then why did he even come looking for you?" "Because he missed me, Dean, because he has a heart. It happens, you know, not everyone is some cold, heartless thing like you are!" Alright, so Dean is pretty far from heartless. But he's definitely self-centered. You gotta give me that.

Dean stepped closer to me, glaring down at me, "Why don't we just pour some Holy Water on him, then?" "I told you, we aren't experimenting with my boyfriend! He's not a demon, end of discussion!" I took a step away, walking towards the bathroom, where I could hear my dog whimpering, "Oh, that's a mature argument!"

"You still occasionally laugh at the word 'boob' and **I'm** the immature one?" "Yes," Dean responded defiantly as I let my dog out, tail between his legs. Apparently, I don't even have to punish him anymore. Isn't that convenient?

Landon knocked on the door, and I could hear him calling my name, "Carrie? Carrie, you alright? Should I be worried?" I followed my dog across the room to the door ,where he started to bay again as soon as he got up the courage. "Phantom, knock it off!"

"See? Look at your dog!" "Dean, get over yourself, you're wrong, accept it," I told him. I shouldn't noticed the flask he went for on the desk as I leaned down to scold Phantom before opening the door to a nervous-looking Landon. "I tr-"

I heard the cap flip off just in time to know what he was doing. I turned, hoping to stop him, "Dean, n-" At the sound of his name, Dean flung the holy water at Landon, covering my boyfriend from face to waist. _Heh, that rhymed._

Landon's eyes closed and he flinched, wiping the water off his face harmlessly, "What was that?" I rolled my eyes, "Holy water, Dean's a freak." Dean's brow furrowed, "I still could be right. Yellow eyes didn't respond to holy water." "Yellow eyes likes to be an old man," I responded, "Landon's my age."

"Doesn't mean he isn't some-" "Dean, there are easier ways to kill us, why would they bother taking Landon's body and all? Wouldn't it make more sense to just kill us?" "Taking my body? What's going on?" I turned to face Landon, "Dean thinks you're a demon."

Landon turned to Dean, "You think what?" "I don't like your accent," Dean replied stonily. Landon's brow furrowed as Dean turned his back and went into the bathroom, where Phantom had retreated at his scolding, and slammed the door behind him.

Landon shook his head before turning to me, "Something's wrong with my card. We'll have to stay here tonight." He took my hands as he saw how annoyed I was at the news, "I'll call my parents right now and have it all straightened out, alright?"

I nodded, trying to smile as Landon walked outside, cell phone in hand. He closed the door behind him as I sat on Sam's bed, laying across the foot of it, "God, I'm tired." "You do know what Dean could be right, right?" I groaned, "Not you too, Sam, it-" "I mean in general. Anyone who approaches us could be a demon." "Well duh." "Then why couldn't Landon be?" "Oh, shut up, he isn't and that's that."


	16. Brother, My Brother

So, both my stories came back to haunt me while I was on vacation. This one was more obnoxious to me, cause it was so confusing. I had a frickin' dream about this story, guys. All planned out, with a villian and everything.

And of course, I should've written it down to tell you guys, cause it was hilarious looking back, but all I can really remember is that Carrie, when she was younger, went to this demonic funhouse that she survived, and in present she and Dean run in to the same funhouse of death and doom. Only not everyone dies - you split into teams, play dangerous carnival games, and whoever gets more points wins.

So Dean and I split up into the two teams with the plan to meet up at the end when they're telling us who lost and killing whatever it was that was running the funhouse, only I realized I was leading a team full of the six-year-olds from my camp, who were calling me Donna, even though Dean was calling me Carrie (yes, Carrie.) And then I had an out of body experience at the half-way point when Carrie kissed Dean on the cheek, it was sweet, I awwed cause they were both blushing, even as the evil clowns were yelling at them.

And the surprise thing I mentioned in the author's note which I've deleted? It's at the end. Cause this first part is already long enough.

* * *

For the second night in a row, I found myself crashing through underbrush in search of a Harpy. Only tonight we're not following Phantom aimlessly - my Tommy isn't even with us. Ridiculous, but necessary. He won't stop freaking out about Landon. Also, I'm lacking my 'I-might-find-a-harpy' enthusiasm.

Instead, we're retracing every single step Landon took yesterday, and I'm cranky. The tracking is tiring, and it's taking forever. And there's no sign of the Harpy. Really, all that's going to come of tonight is the murder of one Dean Winchester, cock-blocker extraordinaire.

Really, it's the worst extraordinary ever. I hold Landon's hand, Dean comes crashing through us, claiming he saw something and that it's safer to have free hands anyway. I lean in to whisper something to Landon, Dean demands to know what I said, because anything I know is vital to the case. Even if it has nothing to do with Harpies, it's vital to the case. Dean's off his freaking rocker, and Sam's just walking along, not doing anything. Freaks.

"Guy's, we're not getting anywhere," Sam claimed, finally speaking up. _I can tell by his tone I'm not going to like this next part._ "I think we should split up - we can cover more ground that way." _I knew it._ "I'm with Carden," Dean shouted childishly, taking a step forward and gripping my elbow.

I shoved my elbow into his stomach, "No, you aren't." "Carrie, maybe it would be a good idea." I turned on Landon quickly, certain that I'd misheard, or that he forgot that Dean is the crazy man who is convinced of his being possessed. "No, no, it wouldn't. It would, in fact, be a very, very bad idea. **Horrendously** bad."

"Carrie," Landon grabbed me by the opposite arm, dragging me a few steps away from a very grumpy looking Dean. "Carrie," Landon paused to gather his bearings, "I think you need to have a talk with Dean. You and I going together would probably just upset him more." _Since when does Landon use correct grammar?_

"Then I get Sam," I responded, grabbing Landon by his denim-jacket lapels, "Show him how great of a guy you are." I smirked up at him, but Landon shook his head carefully, "No, no, I think that will just have to wait. Make sure you two are okay first." "I don't care if we're okay," I responded, pouting pathetically.

For a second, I thought I'd won, but instead Landon just kissed me on the head and walked towards Sam, "Alright, Sammy, let's go." "Dean's the only one who gets to call me that," Sam half-grumbled, half-growled as he and Landon made their way towards the farthest edge of the woods.

Dean didn't look at me, but instead kept on the path Landon had started us out on. I followed behind him carefully, preferring the silence to the argument that was begging to be had. "Carrie, we need to talk." _Well, there goes that._

"Dean, unless this conversation includes the words 'I found the Harpy,' it's unnecessary." "Come on, Carden, you can't never talk to me again." "Yes I can," I responded, quite aware of the fact that I could, but my summer would royally suck. Who would I be witty with?

"Carden, I'm just looking out for you, I-" I don't need to be looked after. You're not-" Dean cut me off, much in the same way I'd just cut him off, "I'm not your boyfriend, watcher, blah, blah, I know, but that doesn't mean-" "No, Dean, that's exactly what it means," I replied with a certainty, satisfied that I had finished a sentence. I'm not sure what it does or doesn't mean, and I don't care, as long as I'm not agreeing with Dean.

"Carden, I think I saw his eyes turn yellow." I froze, and Dean turned to me, "Last night, when he said he was older than he looked, his eyes turned yellow." I stood there for a moment, "You're seeing things, Dean." "Ca-" "Dean," I snapped back at him, angry, "You poured holy water all over him. He's not a demon."

"We once used holy water on Azazel - it didn't work! He said it doesn't work on older demons, or something." I pushed past him, "Dean, stop trying to get rid of Landon, he-" "You said yourself that the Trickster was trying to help us, so why did he make Landon Azazel? Cause he thought you'd enjoy it? It was a warning!" "Oh, so now you're pro-Trickster," I questioned, turning back on him, "I've been dating Landon for two years - nothing you say will make me turn on him." Dean sighed, "Just, be careful?" I shifted, glancing towards where we should be heading, "I don't need to be."

There was a snap of twigs, and I flapped my hand flippantly at Dean's lecture, "Dean, be quiet, I heard something." "Bu-" "Dean," I turned on him once again, "When we're hunting Harpies, shut up when I say so!" Dean's eyes widened, "Carden, look out!"

Suddenly, I felt the sharp sting of claws, or in my case talons, ripping through my back and pushing me forwards into the tree. I started to fling my arms at it, pushing against the tree with one leg before I was turned roughly to face my attacker.

Harpies were... ugly. Like the monster in the movie Jeepers Creepers, only red and with a beak. Its eyes had a wild, hellish look, and its beak was opened as it reached for my neck, most likely for my jugular. I could feel its talons puncturing my shoulders, leaving small trickles of blood to escape the wound.

This all was followed by a bordering-savage war cry, and then Dean throwing the Harpy off me and replacing its body with his own. He ripped at my light-weight black hoodie to gaze at my shoulder, poking at the wound. I tried to push him off me desperately as I saw the Harpy starting to regain its balance and recover from its shock at being attacked.

"Dean, Dean, get off me!" I began to panic as Dean pinned me to the tree, glaring into my wound, "We're going to get you to a hospital as soon as we can after this, alright?" "Dean, get off me," I screamed, finally pushing him off and jumping to kick the Harpy in its beak-jaw-thing.

It stumbled backwards, and I pulled the gun Dean had provided me with from my belt, "Go to hell!" Not witty, but I'm not even sure if the silver bullet is going to work. I never figured out how to kill Harpies. No one really ever tries to kill them, just scare them off.

I shot it in the heart, which caused its eyes to widen in pain. _Too bad they aren't closing with death._ My shot was followed by a shot from Dean's gun, which served to anger the Harpy even more. It came at me, its eyes glaring as it slashed at me with its talon-hands.

"Dean, what the hell were you doing," I screamed as I blocked the slash, just barely dodging a kick. The next slash scratched across my face as Dean shouted back, in the midst of stumbling for a stake, "I was making sure you were okay!"

As if his voice had alerted the Harpy to his presence the Harpy turned to attack him. Desperate, I jumped, latching my legs around its waist and my arms around its neck, "You almost got yourself, **and me,** killed!" "Don't move," Dean shouted back, stabbing the Harpy in the heart with the wooden stake.

The Harpy continued to flail around, "Nothing's working!" "I get that, Dean," I shouted, jumping down and scrambling out of its reach, "I think we need to burn it!" "Oh, that'll really piss it off," Dean screamed back at me, the newly formed scratch across his forehead oozing blood.

"Cover me," I told him, diving towards the ground to gather sticks into a pile and start a fire. Lame, yeah, but what other choice to I have? Our options include a salt-shot and burning it. But if we shoot it with salt, we might never find it again, since it's not bound to this place like spirits are.

As I lit a match, I heard the deafening sound of a shot, followed by a pained squawk. I looked over my shoulder to find no Harpy, but still a very angry looking Dean, "Don't tell me you're annoyed with me for checking your wound!" "Next time, check my wound when we're not in peril!" "We weren't in **peril,** the conditions just weren't ideal."

"Why the hell did you shoot the thing with salt," I responded, giving up on the prior argument. Obviously, Dean has no idea what peril means. "Because I don't think burning it is going to work." "Yeah, but now we might never know. It can leave if it wants to, Dean."

Dean stood still for a moment, glaring at me, "Well, we'll just have to go and find its lair before it leaves, won't we?" "We wouldn't have to find the lair at all if you could've handled the Harpy for all of a minute," I responded, stomping off in a random direction and searching the ground for tracks.

There was all of a moment of silence before Dean felt the urge to open his big mouth, "You know, you wouldn't have been angry if Landon had been looking at your wounds." I glanced over my shoulder at Dean, "Are you serious?" "I'm just saying that I might just care a-"

"Dean, Landon's got no idea what he's doing out here; I'd expect that kind of mistake from him. On the other hand, I expect more from a guy whose been doing this for ten years." Dean froze behind me, "You expect more from me?" I rolled my eyes, "What's gotten into you, lately, Dean? You're, like, jealous or something." "Not jealous, concerned. You're... like a little sister, or whatever."

"I have enough brothers, thank you very much." "Still, watch yourself." I rolled my eyes, _Brothers._

* * *

Landon sighed as he walked next to Sam, "So, Carrie tells me you have visions of the future." Sam glanced at his newest roommate through the corner of his eyes, "She told you that? "Yeah, last night. That's really interesting. Have you... gotten them recently?" "No, no, I'd rather not talk about it," Sam replied, trying to be nice.

"I understand," Landon said, "I bet it must be hard, being so different and all. First with your mother dying, and then Jessica and your mother, and Dean in what, two months did Carrie say?" Sam glanced at Landon again, "I never told Carrie about the deal."

Landon paused, "Oh, well, then I guess Dean did. I don't know how she knew, but she told me." "I would've expected better judgment from Carrie," Sam muttered to himself. Obviously, she didn't understand the severity of the situation. If the demon knew that Dean was trying to worm out of the deal, Sam would die, and then it all would be for nothing.

Sam quickly tried to push the worries from his mind; who could Landon tell, anyway? The only people who would believe him already knew, so really there was nothing to worry about. "Yeah, well, it's hard." "I bet if you used your powers right, you could save your brother."

Sam snapped his head painfully to the side, "What?" "It just makes sense to me. Maybe I've been reading too many comic books. I'll be quiet now, we should probably be concentrating." Sam nodded carefully, "You're right. We should."

* * *

I wrinkled my nose as I picked through old pieces of fabric at the Harpies lair, which was a very big nest on top of a hill. "Ew, old dead people clothing." "Concentrate, Carden," Dean scolded, "We need to find its weakness." I threw the clothing, which was entwined with twigs, at Dean, "Stop calling me Carden!"

"Don't throw dead-people-clothes at me," Dean responded, ducking out of the way of the flying tweed. I smirked, "Baby." Dean rolled his eyes and continued to walk in circles around the nest. I was on my knees in the middle of his circle, when something hit me, "Dean, have we found any carnage?"

"Carnage?" "Bones, corpses, half-eaten stuff." Dean scowled at me, "I know what carnage is. You're just trying to try and gross me ou-" "No, I'm serious, because the only clothing I've found is almost like it was used to make the nest, like actual birds do."

Dean flashed his flashlight around the nest, then quickly around the hill surrounding us, "No, no, we're lacking carnage." "Dean, did we ever consider the possibility that," I glanced up at him, squinting at the flashlight, "That the Harpy is a vegetarian?"

* * *

So the surprise is drum roll

...

...

A music video I made for this story!!  
It sounds so much less exciting when I type it.  
But yes, a personalized music video to the tune 'She's the Blade' by Sugarcult, hand-made (with Windows Movie Wizard) with love by the ever-fabulous LovinCopperpot.

And, though I completely and totally planned on having it up tonight, and very well could if Windows Movie Wizard was letting me convert it to a movie file passed 77 percent, it apparently won't be up for a little, until I figure out what's wrong. Anyone got any suggestions?


	17. A Rose by Any Other Name

I sighed to myself as I walked out of the forest, two hours later, before dawn had even started to touch the horizon. Dean and I still had a bit of a hike to find where we'd left the car, but Sam claimed he knew where we were and he and Landon would meet us on the road any minute.

We all had a lot to talk, and think, about since exploring the Harpy's nest. A more thorough investigation of the nest provided us with a large stock of worms and other bugs that were most likely the Harpy's diet. Of course, this made it less likely that the Harpy was the killer. But if it wasn't the Harpy, then what was it?

"Hey sweetie," Landon yelled, and I smiled as he passed under a street light.

"Babe, we tend to try and be quiet on hunts," I replied, trying to be sweet. See, this is what I was talking about before with Dean. Landon is new at this, I expect mistakes from him.

As if on cue, Landon gripped my jacket, pulling it to the side, "You're hurt, hun."

"Yeah, we had a run in with the Harpy," I smiled bashfully at him before side-glancing at Dean, "Dean already checked it out, though. He said it'd be fine."

"Oh, it looks so painful," Landon cooed, tracing the outline of the puncture tenderly. Oh my god, how can you NOT love this guy? He's the sweetest.

"It's not that bad," I shot back, smiling shyly.

"Hey, can we get going, before I barf," Dean requested, standing next to Sam and, in all honesty, looking very short. Not that I'm particularly able to talk about being short, but still. Dean looks like a midget. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs-short.

I snorted to myself, _He'd love to hear that one._

But before I could relate my sex-joke to Dean, there was a crashing through the underbrush across the street, "Who's in my forest now?"

I glanced at Dean, "It's that dickhead from last night!"

Dean's brow furrowed, "He wasn't a dickhead. He was alright, as far as clueless idiots go."

I rolled my eyes, _Shit, what was my cover yesterday? My name is Medusa, Dean is my cousin, and I'm a failed stripper who works during the day._ Can I get away by running? Not likely - my choices are a paved road and a forest, which he'll be able to hear us running through. So how can we get out of this one...

Acting purely on instinct, I pushed at Dean and Sam, "Into the forest, not too far, go!"

"What," Dean questioned harshly, leaving Sam to stumble into the underbrush and wait for his brother.

"I've got a better story than you - how do you plan on explaining why we're here again? The dog saw a spider? Or did Homer lose his bra in the woods yesterday? Get in the woods, I'll get rid of him."

Dean gave me one final glare before stepping backwards and into the shadows of multiple trees. Turning, I took a deep breath before grabbing Landon by the lapels, "I'm a stripper named Medusa."

"What?"

"Don't ask, Dean's a… well, we don't have time for that, just pretend you're paying me for sex," I responded, pulling Landon down onto me and mentally planning my next move.

Alright, so, establish a cover: check. Of course, I completely forget the next step, so I'm just going to say that the next step is to keep with my cover. _Stripper named Medusa, stripper named Medusa. No matter what Landon says, I'm a stripper named Medusa being paid to have sex._

"Uh, excuse me," I heard the man question, "What are you two doing?"

I pulled away from Landon, leaving him to lean in further to try and get to me, "OH, you, I don't remember your name but I'm just certain you remember mine." _Stripper, stripper. What does that mean? Do I strip now to get away with it?_ "Sorry if we woke you, but you were just so awfully kind about me and my cousin using your woods to find my precious dog yesterday I'd thought you wouldn't mind if I used your land again tonight."

"Uh, uhm," the man said, his rifle gripped in his hand and his brow furrowed.

I smiled carefully, "Oh, thanks, I promise we won't bend the foliage, or whatever. You won't even know we're here, unless you count the screams."

"You know how I like it when they scream," Landon supplied uncertainly, _Oh, just keep your mouth shut, baby. Wait, no, no baby. Medusa, Medusa, stripper. Strip strip strip, strip strip strip, strip ma booty!_ Wait, do strippers sing?

"Uh, right," the man replied, obviously still very disturbed at having to see me again. "Well, just, get gone within the hour."

"Oh, no worries, he only paid for another forty-five minutes," I responded, smiling sweetly at him. He nodded, turning and muttering. God, that poor man - I feel sorry for him, really. These covers are not making his life any easier.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Dean emerged from the foliage I'd promised not to bend, "Oh, so now you're a whore?"

"You set up the cover, I just ran with it," I responded, feeling very smug. I feel like an undercover spy. Being a Slayer has never been **that** much fun. Just hunt and kill.

"You didn't have to run with it so enthusiastically," Dean responded, walking next to me as Landon and Sam began to lead the way to the car.

"Oh, so you had a better idea? Did I lose my dog again?"

Dean glared, "I could've come up with something if you gave me a minute to think."

"Well, we didn't have a minute, Dean, we had the five seconds before I told you to hide," I responded. Why was he getting so pushy about this? Isn't the fact that we didn't get found out all that's important?

Dean picked up his pace to get to the car ahead of the rest of us, ready to drive us home. I, on the other hand, filled Sam and Landon in on what Dean and I had found out - that it's possible that it isn't the Harpy doing this, and that it is just a coincidence, as unlikely as coincidences are in our line of work.

* * *

Sam groaned as he stood up from his computer desk a week later, stretching his back, "Well, I'm not finding anything on the diet of a Harpy."

He looked over at me, and I smirked at him, "Told ya you wouldn't. I've been obsessed with Harpies since I was old enough to walk."

Sam smirked, though, "I did, on the other hand, find that the people who died in this manor in the eighties were only people who wanted to clear the forest and use it for more activities for the retiring home."

My brow furrowed, "What happened?"

"Everyone who was involved in the deal, or outwardly supported the deal, was picked apart. Then a rumor got around that the land was haunted, and the retirement home sold it cheap to the guy who owns it now."

"So, are we thinking the Harpy did it out of self-defense?"

"It's a theory," Sam replied, obviously already in love with that theory. He made his way to the door.

"Are you making a food run?" _Please say yes, I'm __**starving.**_

"Yeah, I was going to run on down to the seven-eleven and get me and Dean something. Want to come?"

I shook my head, "No, thanks, but grab me a sandwich. Any sandwich." Sam nodded, leaving to deliver food to his beloved brother.

Dean was on Harpy-watch tonight, thank the Lord. That boy had been driving me up the wall this past week. Really, he's just being obnoxious for the Hell of it. He actually calls Landon Azazel sometimes. And whenever Landon sneezes, he says 'Azazel' and then pretends he said 'gesundheit.' Like we'll fall for that.

But tonight, he is exactly four point eight miles away, watching to see if the Harpy tries to leave. I would feel bad because it's boring, but he's only got six hours left 'til sunrise, and no one thinks that the Harpy will leave during the day and risk exposure.

I stood, meaning to go and spend some alone time with Landon, who was trying to figure out how to make holy water in the bathroom. Isn't that really sweet, though? And definitely proves he's not a demon in any way. Why would a demon help make holy water?

I leaned against the doorframe, generally charmed by the scene - Landon holding a cross, trying desperately (and failing miserably) to pronounce the necessary chant in Latin, leaning over a tub full of much-less-than-holy water.

"Landon, baby, can you take a break," I questioned, trying to seem cute. I had something to give him - something I was very excited about.

Landon smiled over his shoulder at me, "Of course I can. What's up?"

Again running with my cute motif, I wiggled over and smiled bashfully, "I got you a present."

Landon laughed lightly at me, "Oh really now? And what did you get me?"

Reaching into my back pocket, I held the item in my hands, "I'll never tell."

Smirking, Landon dove for my hand, forcing me to open it so he could see what was inside. His face fell slightly, "Oh, a ring."

I smiled, "Not just any ring - this was James' ring. He got this for himself on my eighteenth birthday - the lion head on it matches the necklace he gave me, see?" I picked the lion pendant, which I always wore, out from underneath my shirt. "It's even got a pentagram on the inside, so it repels demons."

Landon's smile didn't falter, "Oh, great."

I nodded, "And it's made of iron, which also repels demons and ghosts and things."

Landon nodded, "That's... really smart."

"_And_ I went out and got it blessed for you by a priest."

Landon looked at me, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, "Oh, that's was... thoughtful. And very creative."

I nodded, looking down at the ring and starting to blush, "I was thinking about getting the outside engraved with the Latin name for Christ, _Christo,_ but it cost too much money."

Landon wheezed, but when I looked up again he was just fine, "Oh, it's alright. I think it's a sweet gesture. Just hold onto it for me while I figure out this holy water business. I don't want it to go down the drain."

I nodded, putting the ring on the back end of the toilet and curling up on the floor, "Alright. I think I'm going to sit here and criticize you now."

"Carrie-"

"You're never going to learn sitting in here all by yourself. Just start from the beginning and I'll correct you as you go. Go on, no one else is here to hear us."

Landon smiled nervously before picking up his crucifix, which I hadn't notice him drop, and leaning over the tub again, "Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis-"

"No, no, it's no-mi-nay, not no-mine."

Landon nodded, "Should I start over?" I nodded my head back at him, but he just continued with his chant, "et et in nomine Jesu Christi-"

"No, no, Landon, I said start over. And the book is wrong at that part - don't say Christi, say Christo. That's Dean and Sam's book - I guess it was a misprint, or something."

Landon shook his head, his back to me as he laughed, "Oh, Carden, you're such a stickler for the details."

"Everything has to be precisely right in this line of work. One screw-up could get us all killed." I froze midway through standing to see if the book was actually faulty or if Landon just couldn't read the ancient script, only just then actually processing what I heard, "What did you call me?"


	18. Not His Face

Alright, I love this chapter. It's just how this works.

So, I finally got a video up for you guys! It's not the original one I wanted to get up, but it's still good, I think, for my first time. Link at the end of the chapter.

And, cause I'm dedicated and geeky, I also made a playlist for songs for this series. (Did I mention it's a series? I have three parts planned.) Want to listen? Go to finetune's homepage (I'd add the link but the editor is freaking out about it) and then add 'playlist/2245541'

So, to sum that up - finetune's homepage + playlist/2245541

Love you guys.

_

* * *

_

I smiled as I walked along the path, stuck in a state of perpetual euphoria. Landon and I had been on five dates, five totally

_awesome__ dates, including the one we were just finishing. And now he's walking me up to my apartment - how picturesque is __**that?**__ Ah, I could die from so much normality._

_"So, Carrie, what is your full name?" This date, Landon and I had taken to the ever-stereotypical truth game - he asks I question, I answer it, I ask him a question, he answers it, and so on... Obviously, I'd had to lie about my job, but that'll be fine._

_My nose wrinkled at the thought of my full name, "Carden Rose Adair."_

_Landon's nose wrinkled, mirroring my own and reminding me how similar, if you don't count my super-powers, "Carden?"_

_"I know. I like it and all, but it's-"_

_"It sounds like an old lady."_

_I blushed, "I guess."_

_Landon grabbed my hand reassuringly, "Carrie fits you much better. It's very... cute, sweet."_

_"Aw," I responded, smiling as we arrived at my doorstep and standing on tip-toe to kiss him quickly._

_Landon smiled down at me, "I don't think I'll ever be able to call you Carden. Not until you're an old granny."_

If I make it that far,_ I thought to myself, but instead I just shrugged, "Call me whatever you want. This is my stop." And with that, I detached from my not-yet boyfriend and left him, sans goodnight kiss._

* * *

Landon turned over his shoulder to smile at me, "What?"

My jaw dropped, and I glanced at the cross in his hand. Now that I thought about it, he'd never actually touched it - he touched the chain it was attached to, but never the actual cross, "Did you just call me Carden?"

Landon nodded slowly, "What's wrong with that?"

"You hate my full name," I responded, standing and wondering what was taking Sam so long with the food. Sam would have a good explanation. He's smart like that.

Landon shrugged, standing and taking a few steps towards me, which I mirrored with a few steps back, "I got over it."

"You said you'd never be able to call me by my full name; that it made me sound like an old lady."

"Well, that was what, two years ago?" _Now he's not sure when we started dating?_ "I think it was getting a bit old, being so stubborn."

"It would've been, if I liked being called by my first name," I responded, feeling very uneasy.

"Well, that's a bit childish too. People are going to call you by your first name-"

"And then I politely correct them and life goes on. I mean, unless you're Dean," I responded. Something wasn't right. Suddenly, Dean wasn't such a crazy old hag. In fact, he'd be a little welcome.

"Well, still, better be prepared, aye? I just thought I'd make the gesture, let you know I'm alright with calling you by it if you want it."

I bit my lip, leaving Landon to lean down and capture the top lip with his. I kissed him back naturally. Hell, he kissed like Landon, so who's to say it wasn't, that Landon just wanted to change? I mean, it'd be a lot of change, but still very plausible.

_Still, I guess I should be sure._ "Landon, really, there's no reason not to put the ring on - the drain isn't open, even. It's more likely to get lost by you not wearing it than it is to get lost by you making holy water."

A glance told me Landon left his cross on the floor, by the tub, and I didn't need to look to feel his hands grasping my arms tightly, "I really just don't think it would be a good idea."

"No, Landon, come on, re-" I started to reach for the ring, passed Landon, but I felt the sharp sting that I'd never thought I'd feel off duty.

Grasping my newly-abused cheek, I looked up at Landon, whose eyes were glowing a dangerous shade of yellow-gold, "Really, Carden, trust me on this - me wearing that ring is a bad idea."

_Weapon, I need a weapon,_ I told myself, my ever-popular slayer instincts kicking in almost immediately as I dove through the door and for Brady, my trusty pocket-knife. I'd left it on the bedside table, and only just got to it when I felt Azazel's hand hook around my arm, spinning me to look at him.

"Now, Carden, didn't they teach you anything in that school of yours? You shouldn't just walk out o-"

With a flick of my wrist, the knife popped out, and I stabbed Azazel squarely in the chest. I knew it wouldn't do anything, but damn did it feel... horrible. It should've felt great - this is the demon that made me and Landon break up in the first place. But... it's Landon. This guy was my one shot at a normal life, and I just stabbed him in the heart.

Azazel stumbled back, his eyes still glowing sickly, but all he could do was laugh, "That smarts a little. I thought walking out on me was rude, but I never imagined you would do this. What's in the blade? Salt? Did you have salt engrained in a blade?"

_My brother did, asswipe,_ I thought as I, instead, dove for the bed Dean had slept in last night. Lately, he'd gone from keeping a knife underneath his pillow to keeping his spare gun underneath it. _God, Dean, tell me you didn't take that gun with you. Please, Dean, please._

Luck was on my side in at least one aspect, tonight, as I felt my hands close around the foreign feel of a gun. I turned, the bed cushioning my fall as Azazel tackled me. Pushing against him, I pressed the barrel of the gun square against his forehead and shot. I had recently developed a strange feeling of certainty that Dean was actually good at being a hunter, and this feeling assured me that his bullets would be made out of salt or iron. Whatever they were, Azazel wouldn't be able to take a straight-shot to the brain.

He vanished in a dark poof over me, and for a moment I laid on the bed, trying to shake off that unshakable urge to bawl desperately, blocking out the image of shooting my own boyfriend in the forehead, reverse execution-style.

* * *

I breathed deeply into my whiskey, unabashedly letting tears fall down my face and onto the bar. The bartender, a woman of epically Daisy-Duke proportions, and who had probably never been dumped in her whole life, was having a grand old time looking down her nose at me and scoffing.

I hear someone scratch the floor with their barstool as they sit next to me. I know immediately who it is - his smell overpowers me, but I can barely hear him as he orders a beer. I'm getting very good at tuning him out, after a month of practice.

He glances over at me, but I refuse to look at him, "Go away, Dean. Please, I ju-"

"Sam is worried sick about you," Dean cut me off, sipping his beer and saying it in a 'you are in so much trouble with mom' tone.

Then again, between the two of them Sam would be the disciplinarian. He, you know, pays attention to the world outside of the television and women who are 'well endowed' and demons.

"Dean, go aw-"

"When Sam first got back to the motel room he couldn't even find your stuff for a while, he still can't find Landon's at all."

Landon's stuff was still there when I left - guess I should've salted the room. I didn't think the bastard would come back. I had packed my stuff already, in preparation for when I left. Whether or not I want to get away from the boys, and Dean's constant reminding was right in every sense of the word, the school is going to want it. Obviously, the Winchesters were a bad idea in general, since they can't sit still for more than a minute. And why continue with a bad idea?

"De-"

"What happened, Carden," he questioned, finally taking on a serious tone of voice. He sounded... creepy.

At the sound of my full name, my stomach dropped out, and I stood to leave, "Dean, just leave me alo-" My voice broke, betraying my tears. As if he hadn't been able to tell before.

But still determined, I turned off my barstool and took a step for the door, starting to tumble as I felt the world shift underneath me, leaving me to fall towards the hard ground. It felt weird - I haven't tripped since I was fourteen. A fortunate consequence of being a Slayer - great balance.

Halfway through my flight, I felt a strong arm around waist, which I started to fight instantly, "No! No! Le-"

"How much has she had to drink," Dean questioned, obviously angry.

I stopped fighting to snort, _He obviously hasn't seen the bartender yet._ I counted down until Dean let go of me, lest the bartender think he and I were together, but the moment never came. Confused, I glanced over my shoulder as Dean looked at the bartender with hard eyes.

Obviously not used to the treatment, the girl stuttered, "Uh, well, that's going to be her... seventh."

"What? What kind of place are you running, have you **seen** how big she is? She could've died from alcohol poisoning - it's a wonder she's conscious! " Dean started to shout. He looked positively pissed,

And then it kind of... hit me. Dean cared about me; he gave a shit about whether or not I was hurt, or gone, or scared. I mean, I'd thought him being an ass about Landon was a joke, and he was actually just looking out for himself, but... apparently not. Apparently he cares about someone besides himself and Sam.

And that someone is me.

At that thought, I threw myself into his arms, letting him hold me close as I cried into his shoulder, "He was a demon, Dean! You were right, it was Azazel! Azazel possessed Landon! Landon's _dead_! I stabbed in the heart and I shot him in the face and I **killed** him! He's never coming back, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead-"

"Shh, shh," Dean hushed me, obviously looking around at the odd stares we were getting. I think someone actually unplugged the juke box so they could hear what I was saying better. Free entertainment - they don't believe me.

"Carden, don't talk about that he-"

"He was using me, Dean! After everything I did, everything I tried to do for him, he wasn't even him! I made a fool of myself and I don't even know what he wanted but now we're all in danger and I'm going to live on the run and my family is going to have to move and he's dead, dead, dead, dead!"

"God damn it, Carden," Dean muttered, sighing before kissing the top of my head.

I looked at him, meaning to tell him that I'm not five and kisses don't make everything better, and he's a goddamn asshole for leaving me alone with Landon when he knew it wasn't Landon, but I didn't get the chance. Dean swept me up, leaving my neck to snap back at the sudden change of position.

"Come on, we're going back to the motel," Dean said, using his foot to kick open the bar door. _People actually __**do**__ that? I thought that kind of thing happened in Disney movies._

I snorted to myself, cuddling into Dean's chest as I imagined the two of us animated. _If Dean was a Disney character, he'd be Gaston. No questions asked._

And may I say, Gaston smells really good, and has become an ace at comforting me.

* * *

youtube's homepage + /watch?viYzRAlixVUc

Go check it out. I'm excited.

PS If that doesn't work, just search 'Crazy for this Girl Supernatural' and it's the one by LovinCopperpot. It should be the second one that pops up.


	19. The Bitch and the Hag

All I can say about this is one thing: AWWWW!

* * *

"Let's go, Sleeping Beauty," I heard a voice, Dean's voice, call, and I groaned at the slight throbbing in my head. Did I mention I absolutely abhor hangovers? Abhor. Really, nothing good has ever come of my drinking. "Carden, let's go," Dean said, tapping my leg through my sheets, "Sam thinks he might have found someone who knows about the Harpy."

I barely opened my eyes, just enough to see where his stomach was before I kicked it, "Never call me Carden again."

Dean 'oofed' as he fell onto the bed, and his voice came out very strained. I'd officially knocked the wind out of him. "Why not?

"Because that's what..." I felt my voice die in my throat, _Don't say Landon. That wasn't Landon._ "That's what Azazel did. Its how I knew he wasn't Landon."

There was a moment before, "Well, now at least I have a reason. Come on, Carden."

_I think I'm just going to kill him now, when I can claim I'm still a little drunk, or something._ "I'm not going, Deanie-boo," I responded.

Dean scoffed, "You can't not go. This Harpy thing is your obsession - it'll drive you crazy if you miss it."

"Then I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"You'll cross that bridge by kicking my ass for not making you go," Dean responded.

"No I won't. I'll kick your face; kicking you in the ass is no fun at all. You'd think I was coming on to you. And that would be disgusting." God, I'm a mean person. Dean deserves it completely, but that doesn't make me any less mean.

I heard the bathroom door open, followed by Sam's voice, "Carrie's not up yet?"

"She's up; she thinks she's not going. I'm considering stealing her blankets."

"Dude, grow up," Sam responded. _Go Sam!_

It took all of thirty seconds for my blankets to be ripped away from my body. I screamed at the cool air, "Dean!"

"Go, go," Dean screamed, and I opened my eyes just long enough to see Sam sprinting out of the room, my blankets tucked securely under his arm.

I sprang from the bed, ignoring my achy muscles and running for the door, which I almost didn't stop in time to open. Of course, by the time I did stop, Dean had his arms around my bare stomach. I ask you, when did I take off my shirt? I mean, my jeans are still on, so am I forgetting something I did last night at the bar?

Dean leaned back, bringing me with him. I kicked, "Dean Winchester, you let me down this minute! I'll call the cops on you, I swear I will! **Help! I've been kidnapped!**" My own shrill voice hurt my headache, but it'll be worth it once I get my blankets and go back to sleep.

I flailed my arms desperately, smacking Dean in the face a few times as he turned, leading me to the bathroom. He chuckled at my screaming, "You don't think that'll actually work, do you?"

I was about to scream that yes, it could work, when Dean crossed the threshold into the bathroom, dumping me in the tub and turning on the cold water. I yelped, moving the jump out but Dean quickly slammed the door, shutting me in, "Take a shower, we're leaving to get lunch in a half an hour!"

_Lunch? How late did I sleep?_ I banged against the door, my jeans soaking me desperately, "Dean, I don't want lunch, let me go back to sleep!"

"No; if you sleep you'll get depressed. You need to bounce back from this, Carden."

I froze at Dean's words; not just the fact that he called me Carden but, again, at the realization that he actually thought he was doing this for my own good. Hell, it is for my own good. I mean, what would cheer me up more than knowing something about a Harpy?

_Having Landon back,_ was the immediate thought, but I shook it from my head. It was impossible. Landon was never coming back. _I really do need that cold shower,_ I decided, turning and taking a step towards the tub. I paused, though, at the toilet. Landon's ring still sat atop it.

_Not Landon's,_ I reminded myself. I picked it up, the lion's face staring back up at me with stony, iron eyes. It matched the rearing lion necklace James had given me, a necklace I never took off. Landon, when he was Landon, always thought it was cool. He thought I wore it to show how strong I was, how fierce.

I sniffed, feeling as if my eyes were slowly sinking back into my head, making room for the tears that would soon be spilling out. I took an almost shattered breath as I heard the door open, "Carden, you left your shampoo on the table outside, I th-"

I turned, embarrassed at being caught. The ring dropped to the floor, and Dean's eyes followed it. He recognized it immediately - he'd been the one to pull it off James' finger for me.

"Oh, Car-"

I knew it was coming, _Carden._ I remembered the first few months I'd known James - he'd tried desperately to call me Carrie, and it just didn't sound right. He was the only person I'd let call me Carden, and even then not all the time. And then there was Landon, Azazel.

I swear, I tried to not look like a baby. I tried to think happy thoughts about Harpies and the good times with Landon, but it, just... it didn't work. The tears came, and with it came sobbing and me collapsing to the floor. Suddenly, it felt like the whole summer was crashing down on me, and it was just too much to bear.

It was all very similar to when I'd found out James was dead, only this time Dean seemed to know just what to do. He didn't stand there awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs as Sam tried to get valuable information while simultaneously comfort me. No, he rushed to my side and pulled me into his chest and hugged me.

I didn't even know Dean Winchester knew how to hug. But then again, desperate situations call for desperate measures, or whatever.

* * *

I forced myself to start hyperventilating as I leaned into Sam, who was knocking frantically on the door and screaming. We were at a cabin, just across the road from the forest where the Harpy had taken up residence. I glanced over my shoulder; Dean was parked at the end of a very long driveway. He leafed through a magazine, ultimately not paying attention to what was happening.

On cue, I fainted into his arms, almost wheezing in my plea for help. The man opened the door, "What in the world is going on?"

"Something was after us in the woods, please, help us!"

"Alright, alright, come in," the man said, and I limped in next to Sam.

"What happened," the man questioned, standing above us as Sam led me to a couch, where we sat.

"This big, ugly, bird thing attacked me!" And that was my last line. From now on I just nurse my 'wound' and make use of my tank top. Why? Cause pretending to be animal control or a hooker is one thing; having emotion in my voice is another.

The man sighed, "Oh dear lord..."

_Bingo._ "You know what that was," Sam said, "That thing is dangerous! It needs to be reported." _You brow beat him, Sam!_

"Let me get you some... alcohol," the man replied, rushing off towards what was either a bathroom or a kitchen. He came back a few minutes later, "I swear, it's never done anything like this before. Well, once, to protect itself, bu-"

"What was that thing?" This guy is just too perfect.

Sam started to rub the disinfectant gently on my wounds, and I made the accordingly pained noises. They weren't actual wounds - we rubbed watered down ketchup on the holes in the shoulder from when the Harpy actually attacked me. That, combined with the bruises Azazel left on my arms are enough to make me seem officially pathetic.

"It's a... species of bird," the man said, sitting in an armchair next to us. Really - how did this guy not spill before? "A rare one. A Harpy."

Sam scoffed, "You're crazy - it needs to be reported and captured."

"Yeah," I added lamely. I mean, I don't want the guy to think I'm stupid or anything.

The man glanced between me and Sam lamely, "Really, she's just like any other bird; she'd never hurt a fly! I raised her myself. "

"Yeah, well, I think we're going to get my girlfriend to the hospital, thanks for no-" Sam started to lift me up, and I whimpered as best I could.

"Wait, what were you two doing in the forest anyway? That's private property."

"Oh, what, it's a crime to want and treat my girlfriend to a nice, private picnic?"

"Why wou-"

"Goodbye, sir," Sam responded, slamming the door behind him.

I started to mutter at Sam, "Really, was the best way we could have done things?"

Sam smirked, careful to keep his back to the shack, "It was the cleanest. Besides, Dean said if he wasn't allowed to come, he got to pick the cover."

"Did he get to pick the top too?"

"Yes."

"God, I hate your brother."

Sam laughed as we reached the end of the driveway, turning and hobbling just far enough that we figured the guy wouldn't be watching anymore. When it was deemed safe, I slid into the backseat of the baby, "Sam, get back here and help me clean this ketchup off."

Sam joined me, grabbing the paper towels I'd taken to keeping in the back and cleaning my left shoulder, while I attempted to clean the right one. _There's ketchup on my top. I'm going to kill Dean - I love this shirt!_ "So, what did you two little actresses find out?"

"Jerk," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Bitch," Dean responded easily.

"We found out," I cut in, "That the Harpy is apparently as harmless as a robin."

"A robin, aye? You know, if you look at those just ri-"

"Dean, it's not the Harpy. The guy was horrified at the thought of the Harpy hurting anyone - said he'd raised it."

"Yeah, well, then what was it?"

Sam hesitated, pulling away from my newly-cleaned shoulder, "I... have a theory."

Dean and I paused, and once again Sam got that look in his eye - he knew what he was going to say was going to piss one of us off.

Sam looked over at me, "Dean said Landon was possessed by Azazel?" I nodded, blinking back the tears. "Well, I think he might have used the Harpy, and the deaths to... lure us here." Suddenly, I couldn't feel my legs. It was like floating, but at the same time sinking at an unnerving pace. "I mean, he found us in the forest with the Harpy. It just... seems like something he'd do."

I swallowed, trying to find equilibrium in this new floating-sinking world, "Yeah, yeah, it does."

Sam glanced over at me, "Carri-"

"No, no, I'm fine. It makes sense. The question, then, is why he wanted to go hunting with us, get close to me. Why not just kill us, or capture us?"

"He did it once before," Dean spoke into the rearview mirror, "He possessed our father."

"Why did he do it?"

"I don't know!"

I rolled my eyes, "Your help is much appreciated, Deanie-boo. Now let the big kids figure this out."

"Bitch."

Sam's jaw dropped, "I didn't do anything!"

"Not you, her."

I smirked, "Hag."


	20. It's Killing Me

Sorry this is so late, guys. I completely forgot about a weekend trip to see my lonely sister this weekend, to the point where I had not time to post a notice. I would've just posted one at my sister's, but if I got on the computer for personal purposes at all it would have been... bad.

Anyway, so I had to come back, wait an hour for my mom to be done with the computer, and then I was allowed on. I wanted this one to be longer, but honestly it's four am and I am tired. Sorry.

* * *

I sighed as I sat in the backseat, "You know, guys, this doesn't even make sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Dean spat back at me, picking at his tan and olive uniform, "I don't know why you're complaining."

"Because I'm the Harpy enthusiast and I'm sitting in the back!"

After an 'extensive' search of the local newspapers' database, Sam had suddenly been able to find nothing on the murders that happened, according to him, every twenty-seven years. Dean and Sam figured it made sense - if there was no pattern, we would be less likely to come. It probably wasn't a big deal to him to create information, especially on the internet. And why bother keeping up the charade when he was already caught?

So now we're sitting in the baby, waiting for the guy to go visit his precious Harpy, under the assumption that Dean is the animal control guy investigating our claim that we were attacked by a dangerous, giant bird that needed to be put down.

I think Dean just wanted to wear the costume and have an excuse to buy aviator glasses, but either way I'm still in a slutty tank-top. Apparently I never get to choose my own wardrobe anymore. The concept is nothing short of laughable.

"Is that our guy?"  
"Dean, that's just a cat," Sam responded.

"Well, I'm getting jumpy. I want to goooo," he whined, stomping on the floor of the baby.

I rolled my eyes, "We could play Chinese fire drill."

"Chinese fire drill," Dean questioned, "How is that a game?"  
"You yell 'FIRE' really loud and everyone jumps out of the car and runs around it and gets back in in a different seat. It's f-"

"No."

"Hag."

Really, I've fallen deathly in love with that insult. Dean actually gets a little offended by it. I don't think he's ever heard it used as an actual insult before. Today alone, I've used it at least fourteen times.

"Now, Dean, that is our guy," Sam offered, smirking.

Dean grumbled, crossing his arms, "You're both bitches."

"Hag."

"Jerk."

We waited for the man, whose last name was something along the line of 'Puttins,' to finish crossing the road to the Harpy, a plastic bag clenched between his hands.

After a few more minutes, Dean opened his door, and Sam and I followed suit. "So, guys, what's the plan again?"  
"We play it by ear. We don't know how the Harpy is with our guy Pullins here." _Pullins! His name is Pullins!_

"Shouldn't we have something more than that, Dean," Sam questioned as he opened his gun, shoving silver bullets into it.

Dean shrugged, "Alright - if it attacks Carden, we cheer it on." I took a careful hold of my gun, closing one eye and aiming my gun at Dean's feet before shooting. Dean jumped into the air, "Carden!" Bang. "You're going to shoot a hole in my foot."

"I might. I'm a pretty sucky shot - it's why I use knives."

Dean glared at me, "If it attacks, we shoot."

"You're so bright, Yoda," I responded cheekily.

"Shut up," Dean responded, shoving his gun into his kiddie-cowboy-gun-holster, which we had to staple another belt to so it would fit 'just right' around Dean's hips, where he decided an 'animal cop like him' would wear his gun.

I've also decided, after stumbling upon Star Wars on one of the cheap motel channels, that I'm calling Dean Yoda. Really, I've come to embrace teasing Dean. It's not a hobby - it's a lifestyle.

"Guys, can we get started here," Sam teased, leading the way into the forest after Pullins, his arms locked and gun pointed safely towards the ground. I followed just behind him, and Dean brought up the rear.

_I haven't even thought of starting on the Dean isn't getting any jokes!_

I've reached a new stage in my grieving - bringing someone else down to my level. Cruel, but effective. Apparently, I have chosen Dean as the lucky winner. He gets nothing, unless you count a lowered self-esteem and many, many jabs at his sexuality, hair color, anything I can crack a joke at. I take no prisoners.

Unless, of course, we're hunting Harpy, I'm in heels, and silence is of the essence. But all three have to be happening at the same time. Otherwise, it's just useless.

Ahead of us I could make out the sounds of Pullins clumsily stumbling through the brush, calling softly for his Harpy, whom he'd apparently named 'Velma.' When we came to a clearing Dean and I recognized as being near the nest, we stopped to regroup.

"So, does Yoda have a plan yet?"

"You really are a bitch. What, is it your time of the month?"

"No, I just get this way around ugly guys."

"Guys," Sam whispered harshly, "We have to find out about this Harpy, so can we just wait a few minutes in peace and quiet, eavesdrop on the Harpy-loving-man, and go?"

"What's got your panties in a bunch," Dean questioned, straitening from our huddle and cracking his back.

"I'm due to go North and meet a friend in a few days. You remember me telling you about that, right?"

"Oh, yeah, right, the friend I'm not allowed to meet cause you wanna have sex."

"No," Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

I looked up at him with wide eyes, "You never told me you were leaving."

Sam smiled sympathetically, "Just for a few days. I really need to make this visit. I'm going crazy, you know?"  
"Aw, don't worry, Sam, we love you anyway," Dean responded, clapping Sam on the back before moving closer towards the woods, where we could hear Pullins cooing to his Harpy. Cocking his gun, Dean jumped out of the bushes, "Freeze!"

Sam and I followed, crashing through the underbrush and tripping. The tripping wasn't a part of the plan or anything, but again, underbrush, and heels. I'm luck I'm still on my feet, really. I mean, I'm fine in heels, but for hiking? They're almost as impractical as Dean's hiking boots.

_Not Dean, Officer Shmitzer._

Don't ask how Dean came up with the name Shmitzer, because I don't know. He finally stole a real Animal Control badge today, during dinner, when the 'officer' left it on her table. They've got no names on them, and so Deqan decided he was officer John Shmitzer.

The man, Pullins, turned on us, his eyes repeatedly returning to Dean's raised, very steady gun. Is that good acting? Because if I was an Animal Control officer told to remove a bird, I'd be crying from fear in my patrol car about now. That is, if Animal Control gets patrol cars.

"No! Don't shoot, she's innocent, I swear!"

"Prove it," Dean barked. Is that our whole plan? Do Sam and I just stand here and look like, 'Oh my god, that bird attacked us! Oh my god!' Cause really, not that hard, Dean could've done this part without us.

"That's it, that's the thing that attacked me," I finally shouted into the silence. I hate quiet, unless it's around Dean. Then quiet is a blessing.

"Stay calm, ma'm," Dean responded, glancing over his shoulder t me momentarily before looking back at the man, "Prove that she's innocent, and I'll let her go."

"She, well, she told me she was." Dean docked his gun, and the man panicked, "She understands me, really, and she responds. I think a wild cat killed those things."

"Why would you say that, sir?" _This is so unrealistic, if I were watching this I'd just walk out of the theatre._

"When I asked her who did it, her eyes glowed yellow. She says the thing stalked them, and in their final days would start to see things." _The spirit of a lost one? Could be; subconsciously they know they're being stalked by a demon, and they start going crazy._

Dean lowered his gun, "You're a lucky man; I believe you."

The man breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you, Officer. Thank you."

Dean then turned quickly on his heel, crashing through the underbrush back to the car. I caught up with him, once I realized that was it, "Dean, are you serious?"

"You know the Harpy is real, what more do you want?"

"Uh, I don't know, an actual investigation."

"We did our investigating - all last week, while Azazel was sleeping with you."

I froze. Dean didn't stop; not immediately anyway. And once he did stop, he looked over his shoulder and tapped his foot with me. I could feel my jaw drop, the ever-pleasant feeling of anger starting to course through my veins. As an almost reflex, my leg shot out, and I kicked Dean in the stomach.

He oofed, stumbling backwards into a tree, but his pain didn't stop me. Oh no - that comment deserves nothing short of death. And I'm distressed enough - I could do it if I wanted to. I could snap his neck like a twig, he won't fight back.

As I rammed Dean with my fist again and again, I felt strong arms wrap around me, pinning my arms. Desperate, I started to kick a mostly-bloodied Dean, who was very conscious, and was only minimally blocking my blows. I didn't care why, I just cared that he was still alive. I mean, really? Who the hell is stupid enough to say that? I'm just helping out with evolution, here.

"Carrie, Carrie, stop it, it's enough," Sam tried to yell over my angry banshee-screams. But Sam didn't understand it wasn't. It was one thing if someone else said it, but Dean... Dean hugged me today! He's been supportive, decent, and then he goes and says a thing like that?! I mean, DICKWEED!"

"Bitch," I screamed at him, "Asshole! Jerk!" Whatever insult I could think of, I screamed at him, kicking alternatively in his direction and at Sam's knees, to let go of me.

When I'd run out of breath, both from sobbing that I'd no idea was going on and physical exertion, Dean pushed himself away from the tree, mumbling something about crazy slayer bitches who can't take a joke, before leading the way back to the car.

Sam refused to put me down, which was pretty annoying. I mean, really, if I want to kill Dean it isn't all that hard. I slip of the wrist while I'm fidgeting with Brady; a tragic accident with the gun he keeps under his pillow. I'm very talented at making death look accidental; they had a class on it at school. I excelled, mostly because of my big, doe-like eyes and small stature.

And it'll still work today. I can work the system. So really, Sam mine as well put me down. I'm going to kill Dean for that comment, whether you 'let' me or not.

Sam dropped me in the backseat, buckling my seat belt and instructing me to sit on my hands. Dean wordlessly slid into the driver's seat, speeding away as soon as Sam had closed his door. We were back at the motel before anyone said anything.

"Well, Sam, I think this case is closed; let's get out of here. Where is it you said you were meeting that friend?"

"Bucks County, just North of Philadelphia," Sam replied. Dean whistled, "Some drive ahead of us. At least we won't be up all night trying to save a Watcher that's already dead."

Really, though, I'll kill him. I don't even need to wait for a good moment at this point; I'll go to jail for this, happily.


	21. American Thighs

:)

She's the Blade, the video by me, is up. I decided to just put up what I had before Windows Movie Maker when crazy.

So it's Youtube's homepage /watch?vQq0A0YUsqyY

For some reason, though, I don't think it's coming up on searches, so if you have a problem, just go to my old video and go to 'Other Videos.' That should work.

* * *

"Deanie-boo," I whined, propping my feet up on the baby's dashboard, "Deanie, I'm hungry."

Dean glanced over at me before behind his arm behind his seat, throwing the plastic bag he found at me, "We stopped at the gas station an hour ago."

I wrinkled my nose as I looked into the bag of food, "Dean, you got four different flavors of chips."

"What? Chips are food." Dean glanced in his mirror before merging into the left lane and speeding past a mini van full of crazy kids.

I rolled my eyes at him. We'd dropped off Sam at his friends house an hour ago, under very sketchy conditions. He said to be back for him in three days, at around six. Dean and I, left alone and with nothing else to do, decided to not hang around Bucks County, where it looked like nothing was happening.

So instead I'm directing him to Jill's house so _I_ can have a visit. I mean, according to the directions my phone gave me, we're only two hours away. Then again, the way Dean's driving, it's more like an hour and a half.

"Take this next exit," I instructed, sighing and throwing the bag of food on the ground.

"What? No, we take exit seven - we've got at least ten more miles," Dean said, glancing around for a sign.

"Ignore that, take the next exit."

"Damn it, Carden, get your feet off the dashboard, I can't see," Dean complained.

I rolled my eyes, carefully placing my feet around the bag of salty-potatoes. I've been forbidden from chips since I got James for my Watcher, and I don't plan on disobeying him now.

Dean sped across the lanes, just barely making the exit before finding the road ended, leaving us to turn either left or right. "Which way?"

I sucked at my teeth, leaning forward to see if I could find what I wanted, "Left. Definitely left."

Dean's brow furrowed as he glanced from me to the red light in front of us, "Did you even look at your phone?"

"No, no, we're not going to that place right now." Did I mention Dean has no idea where we're going?

"What?!"

"I need real food - we're going to a super market and I'm getting yogurt. Now turn."

"Yogurt," Dean questioned, fake gagging.

"Yogurt is very nutritious," I spat back, "And delicious."  
"And disgusting."

I rolled my eyes, "Here, a Target, they're sure to have something I can eat."

"You can eat the chips," Dean nearly screamed back.

"You're so lucky Sam groveled for your forgiveness," I responded, trying my best to be icy.

Truthfully, I got that weird feeling that Dean wasn't one of those people I could be mad at for very long, maybe because I'm so used to having to forgive him without his actually apologizing. It's not like I have a choice. Well, I guess I technically have a choice, but really holding my grudge would be more work than it would be rewarding.

"I'm not parking, so you'd better run." I rolled my eyes, reaching towards Dean's pocket, "Whoa! What do you think you're doing there, Carden? I mean, not that I mind, but-" I rolled my eyes, punching him in the thigh, close enough to scare him a little. "What are you doing, you crazy bitch," Dean nearly screamed.

"My wallet's in the trunk - you have a wallet that's not in the trunk," I explained, slipping my hand into his pocket before he could do anything about it.

"Get, no! You're not taking my mone-"

"I'll pay you back, you big baby," I responded, slipping his wallet into my back pocket and hopping out of the car happily. I'm going to buy so much yogurt Dean's going to cry.

* * *

I bit my lip as my cell phone rang. Dean and I had just arrived in Ocean City, and Dean was driving on the main street, waiting for my directions. I was calling Jill, to make sure she was at home. I knew she was at the shore - her parents move down here every summer. But I want to make sure she's not, like, at the Boardwalk.

"Hello," a voice questioned - a voice I recognized immediately.

I gasped, my voice immediately returning to that of a four-year old, "DADDY?!"

"We're going to visit your family," Dean questioned, his jaw dropping, "Are you crazy?"

I waved my hand, my voice perpetually stuck in it's four-year old state as Jill's father, whom I do call Daddy, responded, "Carrie?"

"DADDY!"

"Sweetie, where have you been; Mommy and I have been worried sick about you," he fake chastised, and I giggled.

"Oh, Daddy."

Jill's father laughed, "Do you want to speak to your sister?"

And really, that's how this family treated me. They had no clue about my Slayer half-life, and something about them made them so accepting, and so appealing, that I had always felt like they were a second family, Jill being my sister.

"Yes, please."

"Alright, I love you sweetie."

"Love you, Daddy." I swear, I'm more cuddly with Jill's family than I am with my own.

There was murmuring, a squeal, and then, "CARRIE?!"

"JILLIE," I questioned, my voice still stuck in the excited four-year old tone.

"We're going to visit _Jill,"_ Dean questioned, obviously remembering her from Pleasantville.

"Dean, shut up," I whispered to him before turning back to Jill, "Jillie, you'll never guess where I am."

"Where are you, Carrie?"

"Central Avenue," I responded, biting my lip and smiling as Jill started to scream.

"I'M RUNNING TO MEET YOU!"

The phone dropped, and Jill was gone. I smiled as I hung up the phone, "Head down towards twenty-third street," I instructed, and Dean obeyed.

"I can't believe you dragged me to the beach to visit _Jill."_

I rolled my eyes, "Shut up, Dean. You don't have to stay."

"Like hell I don't - after what Azazel decided he wants to put you through, you're not leaving my sight."

And for a second, my heart stopped beating. It does that every time Dean shows any human emotion other than contempt and bitterness towards me. Whenever he reminds me that he really does care. Maybe that's why I can always bring myself to forgive Dean - he cares, deep down.

I laughed as Dean rolled to a stop at a light, throwing the car door open and very recklessly crossing the street before colliding with Jill. "JILLIE!"

"CARRIE," Jill shouted back, jumping up and wrapping her legs around me. _Yeah, this was a good idea of mine._

* * *

I smiled as I dragged Dean up the walkway to Jill's house, Jill dragging me in the same fashion. According to everyone else, Dean was now a friend from college. He'd been a senior when I'd first started, and now he and I decided to go on a road trip.

It's a weak story, but I don't see anyone questioning it too much. As long as he and I are alright sleeping in separate rooms, no one should even care.

"You guys were right on time for dinner, too! Daddy's making his goat cheese pasta!"

"Goat cheese pasta? I think we all know how I feel about goat cheese pasta," I responded, looking excitedly at Jill. In addition to being uber-cool, Daddy was a great chef, and goat cheese pasta was my favorite.

"No, Carden, I don't know how you feel about goat cheese pasta, why don't you tell me?"

I turned to glare at Dean as Jill gasped, "You called her Carden! **No one** calls her Carden, except for her boarder-line stalker cousin."

"James was not a boarder-line stalking me," I responded, "I told you, I worked for him too."

"All I'm saying is that he was creepy," Jill said as she led me and Dean into the front hall, closing the door behind us.

I rolled my eyes as I started to flick off my shoes, "Whatever." I didn't think it was smart to tell Jill that James had died.

Dutifully, Dean followed me towards the kitchen, but I froze at the sound of his boots. "Jill, go ahead and get me my milk."

Milk was another weird tradition of mine and Jill's. Alright, it wasn't a tradition, it was more during high school James was always trying to get me to drink milk, juice, and water only. No soda. He gave up the battle by college, but still, I always drank milk with Jill.

"Does Dean want milk too?"

"Yes, Dean wants milk," I supplied, turning on him and whispering, "Dean, take off your shoes."

"What? No, why?"

"Take them off, right now," I said. Somehow, I knew this wouldn't be easy.

"No, that's just weird."

"It's what normal people do, now do it."

"Oh, Jill said you brought a friend." Daddy emerged from the hallway, sticking his hand out, "Hi, I'm Daddy."

Yeah, he actually introduces himself like that. I love it. Dean smiled politely, shaking Daddy's hand, "I'm Dean."

"Well, come, take off your shoes, stay a while. Will you two be staying the night?"

Dean opened his mouth to decline, but I was not about to let him ruin my fun, "Of course, Daddy."

"Oh, well, we'll just set up the bed for you, then, Dean, and Carrie can share Jill's room."

"Of course, Daddy," I said, smiling as I noted Dean glumly slipping off his shoes, revealing dingy-looking used-to-be-white socks.

I smiled cheekily at Dean as he nodded, "Yeah, sure, fine, I guess we could stay the night here."

"Well, great, then come have dinner."

I smiled at Dean before leading him into the dining room, where Mommy and Jillie were arguing about where who should sit.

* * *

"Dean, we have to go to the Boardwalk," I insisted, pouting at him with large eyes.

Dean sighed, "No, we really don't, Carden."

"Dean, come on, it's so fun! There's a little theme park and these cute shops and it's right on the ocean and it's **so fun!"**

"I'm not going to the Boardwalk, Carden. It's stupid."

"It's got games," I whined, "Now turn around."

Dean and I were now in Jill's room, where he and I were supposed to change into something that could keep us warm tonight at the Boardwalk, while at the same time not making us overheat while the day is still cooling off. I don't know about Dean, but I've got this adorable dress I've been aching to wear all summer. Whether or not it will keep me warm isn't important - it's the cutest thing I've ever seen!

"Carden, we-"

"Turn around," I barked at him, "And close your eyes. I can see you through the mirror."

Dean rolled his eyes before closing them, allowing me to change, "Carden, don't be ridiculous. We don't have time for the Boardwalk."

"What are we going to do, train? Research? Scout the area," I questioned sarcastically. I sighed, pulling on some matching footless tights. It feels good to care about my fashion, "You can open your eyes."

"We don't have time to waste," Dean insisted, turning back to me. He was quiet for a minute before, "Really, Carden, we can't go."

I rolled my eyes, "We can go. You're the one who always wants Sam to have more fun."

"Yeah, but," Dean almost whined as I stood in front of Jill's vanity, picking out from my selection of chokers, "The Boardwalk is geeky."

"Fine, you can stay home, or go to try and find a tavern. Ocean City's a family place, they might have one. I'm going to the Boardwalk with Jill."

Dean groaned, "You know I can't leave you alone, Carden."

My heart skipped the ceremonious beat, but I moved past it, "Then go to the Boardwalk. I bet you've never even been there."

Dean sighed, and I took it that I won as I walked out of Jill's room, leaving him to change.

* * *

Dean groaned as he felt Carden take his hand, dragging him towards some crazy, large ride that was titled 'Double Shot' and shot you up in the air. He'd been running around all night with Jill, Jill's younger sister Abby, and Carden. He was almost always stuck sitting next to Carden or Abby for the rides, and Carden had convinced him to try and play a carnival game where he had to shoot moving targets.

Of course, he found the game laughable easy, but then Carden stole the pink stuffed dragon he won, and now he had a reason to watch her, 'for the safety of his prize.' Of course, he didn't want it. He had figured it would end up in Carden's suitcase at one point the moment he won it, but now there was an excuse.

He bit his lip as he leaned against the guard rail of the ride, not bothering to watch as Carden stood next to him, gabbing with Jill and Abby excitedly. Looking down at her, he couldn't help but notice how... normal she looked. How innocent. It was almost like she completely forgot about the demons, the vampires, Azazel. It was almost like she was no different than Jill or Abby.

It was amazing, really. In her little dress and her brightly colored tights, when she closed her eyes, she could be just another face in the crowd. She had to close her eyes, though, because sometimes Jill or Abby would do something, like bite each other on the arm for whatever reason, and Carden's eyes would suddenly dull and brighten at the same time. Like some weird internal struggle to suppress what she was, and what she'd seen.

It was amazing, really.

Of course, few girls Carden's age could compare, in Dean's mind, to Carden. Unable to help himself, Dean glanced Carden up and down as he followed her onto the ride. _She knocked me out with those American thighs..._

_Damn it, ACDC._


	22. Physically Improbable

Hehe, I like this chapter.

* * *

I wrinkled my nose as I looked down at the coffee table in front of me, full of a bowl of forgotten, luke-warm fudge covered chocolate ice cream. I found that, despite my lack of chocolatey goodness, I was actually feeling pretty content. After the Boardwalk, where I very tactfully stole Dean's pink dragon, whom I've named Charles, Dean really loosened up, and somewhere along the way we all started having fun.

Right now, we're all watching The Fox and the Hound, including Phantom sitting at my feet, and Dean has succeeded in charmingly teasing the movie, Jill, and me into a giddy happiness that really isn't all that rare when I'm with Jill. But still, the fact that Dean caused it is blowing my mind.

But then again, so is this movie. It's by far my favorite Disney movie ever. It's just… It's so sweet and depressing and I'm always sobbing by the end. But even more so at this part, when the widow has to leave Tod to fend in the woods by himself, and she's driving him there and she makes a little mind speech.

_"We met, it seems, such a short time ago. You looked at me.."_

I took a deep, shuddering breath, already feeling my nose start to tingle, and I could make out Dean glancing over at me in the blurry corner of my eye, "Carden, are you crying again? What's wr-"

My heart skipped a beat, "Shut up, this is the best part."

"Are you alright?"

I nodded, "Just watch it!"

Jill gave a light snore, and Abby had gone to bed a while ago, so I was alone in trying to convince Dean to be quiet, but it was accomplished for this, the most emotional part of the movie, _"Then I found out, I needed you, too! I remember how we used to play. I recall those rainy days, the fire glowed, that kept us warm. And now I find, we're both alone."_

Another shuddering breath came, and Dean's arm immediately snapped around me, pulling me into him. "Stop crying."

"I can't, it's sad!"

"It's a movie, Carden."

"Shut up, Dean, you're ruining it for me," I whined, continuing to sniffle and whimper.

_"Goodbye may seem forever; farewell is like the end. But in my heart's a memory, and there you'll always be."_

I sobbed a little, and my head found it's way into the crook of Dean's neck. He stiffened as I tried to be quiet as the choir began to 'ooh' in the background of the movie, "Carden, I really hate it when you cry. It's not… right. You cry too much." Of course, I've learned to ignore Dean by this point. Nothing he can say can even offend me at this point in the slight emotional breakdown that I have every time I see this movie. "Shh, shh, he goes and lives with the woman again, right?"

"No," I whined at him, "He doesn't. He lives in the woods with his girlfriend and his cubs!"

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it? It's, nat-"

I didn't even need to hear Dean's argument; I'd heard it enough times before. "No, he's meant to be at his home, where he was raised, with Copper."

Dean looked at me, "Look, I've never experienced this Disney animated film phenomenon; I watched trucks and football and motel TV when I was a boy, so, can we just watch the movie?"

I sniffed, pulling away from him and trying not to gawk, "Do you actually like it?"

"It's cute enough that I'm puking," Dean responded evasively, untangling his arm from my shoulder and leaning back into the couch.

And it was then that I sat back and actually took a look at Dean. He was scruffy, in a strangely appealing way. His arms were splayed out on either side of him around the back of the couch, almost around me but not quite, and his toes were clenching and unclenching like a nervous tick at random intervals. His face had continuous dark circles embedded under his eyes, and the more I thought about it, he had gotten more and more pale since the beginning of the summer.

I mean, it could be that the lighting from the TV is bringing out some of his more sickly qualities, but still...

"Dean, are you coming down with something," I questioned, my brow furrowing.

Dean shook his head, glancing away from the grumpy badger on the screen, "Nope, fit as a daisy. Why?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. You just look… pale. Almost deathly."

Dean shrugged in return, "Well, I'm fine."

I nodded, turning back to the TV and wiping at the still-drying tears. It occurred to me that, in addition to Dean actually caring about my crying, I actually cared about how Dean was doing, too. _But not really. I mean, if he was sick, I wouldn't, like, make him soup or something._

I giggled, both at the movie and at the image of me standing in a kitchen, yelling to Dean that he had better be grateful because I burned myself four times trying to make him goddamn home made chicken noodle soup.

Dean looked at me oddly, his arm once again finding my shoulder and shaking me carefully, "You alright there, Carden? You almost snorted you're laughing so hard at this fish-bit."

I blushed, half-heartedly punching Dean in the shoulder, "Don't call me Carden."

_Oh, shit._

* * *

I pursed my lips at the pancakes Daddy had 'whipped up' for us as Dean paced on the porch outside, Phantom barking at him and his nervous energy sporadically. The wind was blowing his hair every which way, and my rather disobedient mind flashed an image of running my hands through Dean's hair.

_Ew, no, pancakes. I'm thinking about pancakes._ I worked hard to concentrate on the buttery, chocolate-chipy goodness that Jill had already finished, but then Dean walked through the door and he started talking to me, "Carden, can I see you in the basement?"

I shook my head defiantly, "Not if you call me Carden, you can't."

I'm trying very hard to suppress my natural 'like-a-guy' reaction, which is to drool whenever they talk to me. Cause liking Dean is actually physically impossible, not to mention really weird. This is just a rebound period. And he'd be a horrible person to act on it; I'd be a horrible person to act on it.

I bit my lip as Dean grabbed my arm, dragging me impatiently towards the basement door, where he slept on a pull-out couch the past two nights. Acting on rebound-instincts, I looked downwards, checking him out sufficiently sneaky-like. Alright, so liking him is physically **improbable.**

As we arrived in the basement, Dean turned on me, "Sam's going to be there another few days."

I cocked an eyebrow, "And we had to say this downstairs why?"

"Because if we stay in this happy little liberal house another day, I might puke all over the comforter."

I scoffed, "But Dean-"

"No, no, you had your visit. It's all I can do not to drive back to Philadelphia and take him with us. It's the Fourth of July; he should be with his family."

I rolled my eyes, "Fourth of July isn't a big holiday."

Dean started to pace, "I'm just worried about him, is all."

My brow furrowed, _Is Dean sharing his feelings?_ "Why are you worried about him?"

Dean looked up, obviously shocked, "I never said I was worried about him."

My brow furrowed, "Yes, you did. Just now, when you started to pace."

"It's nothing, just Winchester stuff." Dean continued to pace around the room.

"Dean, you ca-"

"What do people do with things like this," Dean questioned, picking up a piece of pottery Jill made for her art final in eleventh grade, a sculpture of a stork head. "I mean, it's kind of sloppy to be a paper weight."

_He really isn't attractive in this light,_ I decided. I scoffed, "Whatever, Dean. Just let me go finish my pancake-"

"Get over here," Dean ordered, leaning down to put down the stork head and pick up a tissue.

My brow furrowed, my heart skipping a beat before jumping into my throat, "What?"

I turned to Dean to find him stepping close to me, "You've got chocolate all over your bottom lip. Come on."

Dean smirked, wiping at my lip with the tissue. It was honestly very rough, and not very sensual. That is, until Dean slowed the rubbing, replacing it with an equally calloused thumb, muttering to himself in concentration.

"There's just this one spot, it's not coming out."

His voice died, and he slowly continued to rub at my lip, and it was one of those crazy, intense moments when the world fell away. Despite a week with my demonic boyfriend, I'd been lacking these moments, and I'm pretty sure my heart quit all together.

"Carrie, Daddy says-" Jill's voice died as she swung around the wall separating the stairs from the basement, "Oh, sorry, I'll-"

"Jill." I cried, "Hey, sis, friend, buddy, what does Dea, I mean, Daddy want?"

"He wants to know if you want to finish your pancakes."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm there, totally." I smiled, not bothering to ask Dean if he wanted any.

"I think I'm going to skip breakfast, so just tell…" Dean flinched, "Daddy to wrap mine, or whatever."

In my mind, I made a noise equivalent to whenever Scooby-Doo is confused. "No breakfast?"

"I've got some thinking to do," Dean responded.

"Some thinking to do about sex with Carrie?"

I almost barfed as I snapped my neck to turn to Jill, Dean's gaze following mine in the same shocked, horrified way, "No!"

"I don't want to have sex with her!"

"I would never lower myself to sex with him," I declared.

Jill shrugged, "Just a suggestion. Don't get so defensive, what with your sexual tension and all."

I shook my head, stomping passed her, "You don't know what you're talking about, Jill."

"Dean and Carrie sitting in a tree, a-l-m-o-s-t-k-"

"All the letters don't fit," I screamed, walking up the stairs and letting her follow me.

* * *

I bit my lip as Dean drove through the streets of Ocean City, looking for a diner for lunch. "Dean, this is ridiculous, just go to the sandwich place we saw."

"I want a burger, they don't have burgers," Dean insisted, "And after that we're going to Bucks frickin' County and we're getting Sam!"

"We are not going to get Sam - he said he wanted a few more days with his friends. We'll find something else to do. I'm sure there's one friend of yours you haven't, what's the phrase? Hit and quit?"

Obviously, Dean threw a temper tantrum when I said we should stay with Jill and her family for the Fourth of July, especially when she mentioned watching the Swan Princess tonight after fireworks. I believe his exact words were, 'Over my dead, cold, hard, stabbed, beaten, and burned body.'

You should've seen his face when I suggested Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

"Well, what do you think we should do, then?"

"I don't know, go back to Jill's house, see some fireworks? Try and be normal for a few days, like Sam is doing without us?"

"It's the 'without us' part that gets to me. We're going to get Sam."

"No, we're not - he'll hate you, he'll hate **me.** He can't be normal with us - we're everything that isn't normal about his life."

"Well, we aren't going back to the Stepford wanna-bes."

"They don't want to be in Stepford. They're just very open and loving!"

"They are freaks," Dean declared. "Very kind freaks, but freaks. It's not natural."

"It's natural, just not for us."

Dean quieted for a few minutes before pulling into a parking spot next to a corner diner, "You're not going to let me go and get Sammy, are you?"

I shook my head, "You're not going to let me stay with Jill, are you?"

Dean shook his head, opening the baby's door and slamming it shut. I followed him into the diner, planning on ordering a plain burger, "So, Carden, what do you want to do?"

"Get my gun and shoot at your feet again," I replied.

Dean smirked, "After that."

"We could do the fireworks thing. I mean, I don't know if we'll be able to find some place to stay, but I know a cute place a half hour south."

"Who do you know _there?"_  
"No one - we'll have to pray the motel they have isn't completely booked, but they have really cool fireworks."

Dean groaned, "Why are you so hung up on this whole fireworks thing?"  
"You were the one freaking out cause your little brother wouldn't be with you for Fourth of July. Fireworks are the best part of the Fourth of July." Dean sighed, and I rolled my eyes, "Have you ever even been to see fireworks?"

"Yes," Dean responded.

I quirked an eyebrow, "And when?"  
"'Til I was four I went every year, and then I took Sammy when he was nine."

"And you were what, thirteen? Fourteen?"

"That's not the point, Ca-"

"And were you just watching him the whole time? Did you even see the fireworks? Or can you remember the fireworks from when you were four?"

"Yes, and no. I mean, no and yes." I rolled my eyes, smiling triumphantly. Dean glared, "Fireworks aren't that cool."

"You've just never seen cool ones. You can watch these on the beach, it's just so cool. We'll stop somewhere and get a blanket, and I can call the mini-hotel on the way down. Ah, a hotel."

Dean sighed, "I get the feeling this is all going to take a large chunk out of my wallet."

"Oh, the school will pay," I responded certainly. They don't need to know that they're paying for a Fourth of July suite. A Best Western could definitely be a gun.


	23. Just Shoot Him in the Foot

I feel like such a tease - I'm not going to be here again Saturday, and this ending is just mean...

* * *

I sighed as I tucked my legs under me, "Dean, I'm bored."

"You're the one who wanted to go to this... Shore Harbor place."

"It's **Stone** Harbor, and you wanted to go to Bucks County," I complained, "That's way farther!"

"Yeah, but I would've left you in Ocean City if I knew you were going to whine like this," Dean replied, hopefully joking.

"HAHA, you're so funny," I mocked him.

Dean rolled his eyes, effectively ending the only conversation we'd had the entire ride down. Admittedly, it's only a half an hour or so, and we've been driving for fifteen minutes, but still, this is really boring.

With nothing else to do, I flipped open my cell phone, hoping for a strong enough signal that I could get onto the internet. Five minutes later provided me with a number of the motel in Stone Harbor.

"You better hope they have rooms," I told Dean as he glanced over his shoulder, merging into a different lane.

"I better hope they don't," Dean grumbled, "This whole thing sounds really stupid."

"Hello, this is the Desert Sand Resort, Christie speaking, how may I help you?"

I flinched naturally at the plastic-sounding voice, "Uh, hi, I was wondering if you had any rooms available for a one night stay?"

"One moment please."

I glanced over at Dean, who looked at me hopefully, "They don't have any rooms? We're turning back."

I waved my hand at Dean dismissively as I heard Christie type a few things into her computer. I hadn't been staring at Dean for any reason at all because at lunch, while he shoved twelve French fires and half his burger down his throat, I realized that it is much too soon to even come close to needing a rebound. Landon and I dated for two years, and I only killed him a few days ago.

Sure, I've been dealing with the breakup for a little over a month, but that has nothing to do with this.

"How many people will be staying with you," Christie questioned, shaking me back into life with her voice.

"Uh, two, just for a night," I replied, trying to remember how long Sam wanted to stay. I was kind of zoning when Dean was talking about his and Sam's _exact_ conversation.

"Well, we do have a room, but it's what we call our Super Suite - it fits up to nine people."

"We'll take it," I replied quickly. If I hang up Dean's going to turn right around.

"Are you sure? You'd have to pay for three nights..."

"That's fine, we'll take it," I said. _God, I hope Dean's stupid enough not to notice a problem._

Of course, that was when Dean decided to look over and raise an inquisitive eyebrow at me. "Alright, names please?"

"Dean Winchester and Carrie Adair," I said.

"Carden," Dean coughed, and I punched him lightly in the arm. But the only reason I decided to punch him lightly is because he's driving. Nothing else is going on here.

"Alright. Check in is at three, so-"

"We'll be there in ten minutes," I replied.

"Oh, well, alright. Someone will be glad to help you."

"Great," I responded.

"Have a nice d-" I flipped my phone shut, and Dean quirked the other eyebrow at me.

"That was snappy. She piss you off?"

"She sounded like a Barbie Doll," I responded.

"Mm, Barbie," Dean replied, shaking his head and smiling wistfully.

My jaw dropped, "Dean, that's disgusting, get a life you perve."

"Her legs are half her body! I'm not saying I'd do it with a doll."

"You're a perve," I repeated.

"She's got long legs!"

"You're a **perve,**" I responded, this time starting to giggle. No, not giggling. Dean's not funny. At all.

"I'll show you who's a perve," Dean replied, steering with one hand and reaching over to tickle me. I squealed, slapping at him for a few seconds before he stopped, openly laughing at me, "You're a character, Carden."

"You're a dead man, Dean."

Dean sucked in a breath, "Yeah, well, I kissed the demon."

I arched an eyebrow, "Huh?"

He shook his head, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

* * *

Dean groaned, "Carden, it's too hot to go out!"

I rolled my eyes from inside my bedroom, "Then don't wear jeans and flannel for once in your life!"

"No, no, we're just not going. Who wants to watch fireworks on the beach, anyway," Dean complained, throwing my bedroom door open.

Yes, I just said bedroom. _Twice._ There are frickin' three beds in this place, mine with it's own room, and a kitchen! I already told Dean we're not going out if we have a perfectly good microwave, which he's fairly grumpy about.

I screamed at Dean, "Dean, get out of here." I pulled the towel I'd been drying myself with tighter around me, glaring at him.

Dean shrugged, "Why?" He moved forward, throwing himself onto my **KING-SIZED** bed.

"I'm kind of naked," I responded, pouting at him. I knew what was coming.

"I kind of _live with you,"_ Dean responded, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"Not right now, you don't. Right now you live in a completely separate room. The one with the bigger TV, remember?"

"Yeah, but there's nothing good on for free, and I can't order porn when you're just on the other side of the wall."

I wrinkled my nose in disgust, "Thanks for your consideration."

"So your room is what I'm left with."

"No, no, this is Carrie-time. Time for Carrie to be by herself," I said, using one hand to wrench him off the bed. I'm lucky - he almost pulled me down onto the bed. I don't even want to know what I'd do then.

"Dean's brow wrinkled as he stumbled forward, nearly landing on me, "Whoa, whoa, are you going to-"

"Dean, get your mind out of the gutter and out of my room," I yelled at him, my voice cracking with an awkward kind of embarrassment.

"Cause if you do that, I definitely am allowed to order porn."

I rolled my eyes, pushing at his back out of the room, "No, Dean."

"You could watch it with me! It would be a bonding experience!"

"Goodbye, Dean," I replied, pushing him through the door and into the other room.

"Oh, come on, Card-" I slammed the door shut, smiling to myself as I locked it.

Dean tried the doorknob, and I heard it jiggle behind me as I started to get dressed, "Go get ready for the fireworks, Dean."

"Carden, unlock this door right now!"

I ignored him, sorting through my clothing. We're going to be on the beach, so it should be loose-ish clothing. Then again, it's only four o'clock, we have a few hours before the fireworks start. Should I make Dean come back with me to change? No, he'd grab a knife and stab me in the back for making him wait for me to change _twice_.

"Carden, I'm not joking." My heart skipped a beat at the worry in Dean's voice, but I still didn't get up. I chose, instead, to start getting dressed, an act I was halfway through when Dean slammed through the door, wielding his knife dangerously. "Carden, never lock your door! It's an invitation to be attacked through a window!"

"Dean, I'm a big Slayer now, I can take care of myself. Besides, we're on the sixth floor, now turn around," I ordered, annoyed with him for breaking my door. But it's one of those times that I can't actually be angry at him, despite a very real feeling of anger in my chest.

"Just because you're a Slayer doesn't mean you can do whatever the hell you want with demons and vampires and things," Dean started, turning around dutifully. I rolled my eyes as I pulled on my tank top, ignoring him, "You're a part of a team. We have to be very accessible to each other."

"We also need to give each other privacy," I pointed out in return.

"Me and Sammy don't need privacy."

"You guys were raised in motels," I responded, rolling my eyes as I pulled on my socks, "Privacy wasn't even an option."

"Hey, my Dad-"

"Was a great hunter and father, you've told me," I finished, "This isn't about your father. This is about your lack of the necessity of privacy."

"Could you have worded that any worse," Dean spat back at me sarcastically.

I smiled cheekily, standing and cracking my back before deciding I was ready to go, "Yes."

"Whatever, I'm not going outside. It's blazing."

"That's why you wear these," I said, grabbing at the edges of my shorts and waving them the best I could. Denim doesn't wave very well, for the record.

"I don't do shorts, why does everyone suddenly want me to do shorts," Dean questioned, throwing his arms up in the air.

I rolled my eyes, "Baby. Come on, we're going to go food shopping for dinner tonight." Yeah, I'm decisive. I make decisions without Dean's input at all.

"You're so lucky I love home-cooked meals."

"Have you ever cooked before," I questioned, grabbing his hand and dragging him out the door. If I didn't, I don't think he would've ever left.

"Barely ever had a kitchen," Dean responded, grabbing his gun off the coffee table in the 'entertainment area.'

I gaped at the movement, "Dean, put that back!"

"I don't leave the room without my gun," Dean responded, shoving it into the waistband of his pants.

"Dean, this is Stone Harbor - the cops give speeding tickets."

"More reason why I need a gun, the cops don't even have one!"

"Dean, put your gun back," I begged, "Please, it's not necessary!"

"But privacy is."

I rolled my eyes, our hands still tangled within each others as I turned to drag him out the door, "Fine, whatever, if you get in trouble I don't care. I'll leave you in jail, I can hotwire a car."

Dean snorted as we waited for the elevator to come for us, "You can't hotwire a car. You don't even know where the engine is."

"It's in the front, and I can find someone to."

"I thought this was Stone Harbor, where no one lies, cheats, or steals," Dean teased, pulling me into the elevator, just to switch things up.

I rolled my eyes, turning to push the button for the ground floor before realizing that I was still holding Dean's hand. I blushed, dropping it and hitting the button, "Sorry."

"No, no, it's alright, I get it, I'm slow," Dean spoke quickly, taking a side-step away from me.

_Smooth, Carden, real smooth. Now just shoot him in the foot and completely forget about the boyfriend you killed. It'll work out, really._

* * *

"Did I ever tell you your shoes make you look like Big Bird," Dean questioned from behind me at our small dining table, where he was chopping celery. Who would've thought Dean would be good at chopping vegetables? It's not like he uses knifes on a daily basis, or anything.

I glanced down at my feet, bending my knee in a way that was akin to Anne Hathaway in Princess Diaries, "My shoes are yellow. What's your point?"

"Obnoxiously yellow, you look like Big Bird."

"They're the only thing that's yellow on my entire body," I laughed back at him.

"No, you have the one yellow bra."

"Why do you know what color my bra is," I questioned incredulously.

I glanced over my shoulder, and Dean flicked his tongue out teasingly, "Because I'm a God."

"I'm not wearing my yellow bra," I informed him, which was followed by a few seconds of silence.

Dean smirked as he brought over the celery to scrape into the bowl. I don't think either of us know what we're cooking, but I'm very enthusiastic about the steaks cooking in the oven. Mmhmm, steaks. "So, are you wearing your yellow thong?"

My jaw dropped in almost-fake horror, and I threw a chunk of potato, "Dean Winchester, you prove your perve-y-ness!"

"I didn't you had a yellow thong! HA!"

I laughed openly at Dean, "Yeah, well, I don't know about your Snoopy boxers."

"I know you don't. They don't exist," Dean responded cheekily.

I scoffed, "You have some sort of embarrassing undergarment."

"Yellow thongs aren't embarrassing," Dean responded, giggling at me, "They're sexy."

"You're such a perve, we're not even going to talk about my underwear anymore."

"I once killed a God, you know," Dean responded, like that's what we were talking about.

"You killed a God," I questioned back.  
Dean nodded, "Three. A Pagan couple, and one Norse scarecrow."

"Isn't the point of being a God being immortal?"

"Yeah, and me and Sammy smoked all three of 'em," Dean responded, smiling fondly. "I just wish we got it before they got Sammy's fingernail."

"What," I questioned.

"The Pagan Gods - they had to perform a ritual and they got Sammy's fingernail. Didn't get my tooth."

"How is a scarecrow a Norse God," I questioned, looking at him oddly. He had abandoned all work, and decided instead to lean against the counter and relive his glory days of killing farmer's tools.

"It was a Vanir," Dean defended.

"Oh yeah," I questioned, smirking up at him, "I once killed Dracula."

"No way," Dean responded. _This is weird first date talk._

I pushed the thought from my mind, because this isn't a date. "Yeah. I'm like, the fourth Slayer, though. He never actually dies, he turns to dust and reassembles after a few years when he thinks it's safe again."

Dean snorted, "Is that really killing him?"

"Yes," I defended, "He's gone for at least ten more years thanks to me. And he's very tricky."

"Tricky?"

"And kind of sexy, in a dead, pale, vampire way. He's all mind-games and glamour," I added, throwing what was left of the potatoes into the pot of boiling water.

Dean pshed, leaning over into the fridge and pulling out a beer. This was all followed by a very long pause, and I couldn't help but glance over at Dean, shocked to see him just drinking his beer, watching me stir potatoes.

"Uh, Dean, can you cut that out? You're creeping me out," I bit my lip, concentrating on stirring the boiling water.

"Hmm?"

"You're staring," I clarified, looking up at him in hopes of emphasizing my point.

Instead it was like reliving the episode at Jill's. It was like the world fell away, and even if the world had been there, it wouldn't have mattered because Dean was much more interesting, much more intense. My heart jumped into my throat as the pit of my stomach dropped out, leaving my chest with this empty, hollow feeling. Slowly, Dean leaned in towards me, his hand brushing the hair off my shoulder.

And that was when I screamed, "FUCK!"

Dean jumped back, his eyes wide, as if he'd just been broken out of a trance, "What, what'd I do?! What's wrong?!"

"Oh, sorry," I responded, biting my lip and looking down at my tank top, "It's just... the hot water burned me."

Dean tried to laugh, but instead just let out a breathy huff, "Well, I'm just going to head off to the bathroom. You... you seem to have this under control."

I nodded, "Yeah, yeah, go, see ya when it's done." Dear Lord that's going to be awkward during dinner. Thank God for TV.


	24. Lay Down, Carrie

Hehe, you guys are awesome. So awesome, I've decided to have my own little fun and start posting one random fact about this story every few chapters.

**Fun fact:** Originally, Carrie and Dean were supposed to share their first kiss at the bar, when he was comforting her. This idea was thrown out, because it seemed too soon to me.

* * *

I smirked at Dean over our Chinese food, "Alright, scariest moment of your life."

Somehow, after the near kiss, which I am referring to as 'the incident,' and that very awkward conversation about underwear, the steaks had burned to the consistency of rubber and the potatoes nearly caught on fire. Being left with only a few chopped vegetables, Dean and I agreed that take out would be more satisfying.

Of course, in a desperate attempt not to fight, or talk about the incident, I suggested the truth game. This soon became forcing Dean into it, because anything is better than more TV. I'd rather have a face off with La-... Azazel before I watch any more TV.

I don't care what I said before about thanking God for TV - that's obsolete. I'm done with TV until tomorrow.

"Scariest moment... the night Sammy died." ...WHAT?! "Almost."

I let out a sigh of relief, shoving another mouthful of soy-sauce covered ride in before, "What happened?"

Dean sighed, "It was when Azazel kidnapped Sammy for his demon-army-general competition thing. The night we got there, to save him, a guy stabbed him." Dean's eyes glazed over and stopped focusing, "It was touch and go for a few days. I would've gone to the Crossroads Demon myself and sold my soul for him." He shook his head, licking his lips and effectively snapping himself out of it, "You?"

I shrugged, "The first time I saw a vampire bite someone, I guess. I was, like, eleven. I couldn't sleep for weeks."

Dean nodded, knowing it was his turn for a real question, "What's the deal with you and your pocket knife?"

I smirked, reaching into my pocket and pulling Brady out, "Andrew got it for me for my nineteenth birthday. The blade has salt in it, it's got a special little holder and needle so I can inject holy water or dead man's blood, and he had it blessed by a priest."

Dean whistled, "That is one thorough brother you've got."

I nodded, "He worries about me a lot, especially about slaying. It freaks him out. He also had James enchant it so that it won't open for anyone but me, but then he oiled it for me so that I barely have to flick it. He was intense." Dean laughed, and I tried to figure out something to ask him, "It you could give up this life, but you also had to give up the Impala, would you do it?" Dean tapped his chin with his fork, and I smiled, "Take your time. I understand it's hard to think with a brain the size of a walnut."

Dean chucked a few silent noodles at me before he answered, "No."

I dropped my jaw, "Your baby means that much to you?"

Dean shook his head, "No, I've just seen what my life would be like without hunting. It isn't worth it."

I bit my lip, _Should I pray. I don't want to pry - he'll say something sweet and the not-crush will intensify._

Dean bit his lip, staring at me for a few minutes before, "What would you have done if I'd kissed you earlier?"

For a second, I was sure I was imagining him saying that. It didn't seem like Dean - it seemed like in a movie where the girl imagines what could possibly happen, and the audience sees it, but then it switches back and Dean asks me my favorite color for the fifth time tonight.

But then Dean gave me this weird, strangely Dean look. It wasn't anything I could've conjured up, and its message was blunt and horrifyingly clear - _Carden, don't say slap me. Don't say you don't know what I'm talking about. Tell me the truth - tell me you're ready for this. I know you are._

I was ready to start **screaming** at the Trickster for playing this trick in a desperate attempt to deny reality, but I didn't get the chance. My cell phone started to sing my ringtone at me, _"Get away from me! You take the breath right out of me! You l-"_

Flipping my phone open, I found the alarm message blaring at me, **Time to go see fireworks! Leave immediately!** I stood, thankful for my salvation, "Let's go."

"What? Why?"

I walked quickly passed Dean, the kitchen, and was jogging by the time I reached the door, "Fireworks! We have to go, or we'll be late!"

* * *

I swear I have no idea how I get myself into these situations. Ten minutes ago I was setting up the beach blanket, listening to Dean complain about the sand in his boots from the completely opposite side of the blanket. Five minutes ago, we were still on completely separate sides of the blanket, barely even talking. I'd been pounding at the sand, trying to make it into a suitable pillow to watch the twenty-minute firework presentation.

And now I'm laying on Dean's chest, amazed and fascinated and calmed by his heartbeat, trying very hard to ignore the casual way he was stroking my hair. Instead, I'm concentrating on hoping it won't rain, like it very well could, and trying to figure out how I got myself into this. I think I have a hidden talent when it comes to Dean - effortless flirting. I must bat my eyelashes without realizing it, or something.

Really, it's the only logical explanation, except of course a crush that's horribly misdirected. But, I mean, a crush would actually be very, very illogical, so it's out of the logical category.

My head rose sharply, pushed up at Dean's sudden intake of breath as the first firework shot into the air, exploding neatly above our heads. Against every for of better judgment I possess, I turned my head to smirk up at Dean, his eyes wide as the fireworks reflected in them. "Dean Winchester, I thought that fireworks weren't cool or interesting. Yet strangely enough, you seem captivated at th-"

"Shh," Dean hushed me calmly, his eyes following every spark as it floated through the air.

The world didn't fall away, but I still couldn't look at anything other than Dean. His face, tinted green, blue, and then pink in quick succession, was almost childish. Like with every bang of the fireworks, one gunshot, one case, one horrible memory banged away with it, until he was just a young boy with his baby brother and two, happy parents.

Slowly, as I sat staring at him, I felt my body start to vibrate, a deep humming reverberating through Dean's chest. I licked at my lips subconsciously as I recognized the song, "Dean, are you humming 'Lay Down, Sally'?" Dean nodded wordlessly, continuing to hum. I rolled my eyes, poking him in the side, "Well, _why?"_

Dean smiled as he squirmed away from my protruding finger, "I don't know. Came to mind. Seemed to fit."

And then the strangely hollow feeling found its way back into my chest, my stomach dropping up at the same moment my heart started to push north, towards my throat. I don't know why, but Eric Clapton is one of those artists I'll never, ever get bored of listening to. Before I went to become a Slayer, I would sit with my father and play 'Go Fish' while listening to Eric Clapton. That's one of those memories I cling to desperately.

As Dean's humming brought me out of my dream, fantasy land of a past, when things were exponentially similar, leaving me to realize nothing other than the pushing of my heart at my throat, forwards, attempting to propel me towards Dean' face.

And before I knew it, it was all over. The world came back into a sharp focus and my head was back safely on Dean's chest, my lips tingling from the contact with his cheek. That was all it took - a quick peck on the cheek.

I gulped, dreading the consequence of my actions as I finally tore my eyes back up and into the heavens, where the stars were mingling with sparks. Dean's petting ceased for a moment, his fingers stuck in my hair as he processed what had happened.

Through the humming, I felt him chuckle, and then he just continued to pet me, like that was what he was meant to do, anyway. Like it wasn't a big deal - like it didn't somehow make me want to cuddle further into him, an action I slowly found myself doing until I was pressed firmly and comfortably against him.

No, no, it didn't do any of that at all. I'm just cold, is all. I shouldn't have worn shorts and flip-flops. Stupid move.

* * *

I found myself blushing, thankful for the cover of darkness to hide such an awkward reaction. We were back to the truth game, walking along the beach, since I thought going back to the hotel would be a bad idea. There we would have nothing else to do but talk, with no distractions. At least here I can pretend I stepped on a crab, or something.

But so far, I haven't had to use that trick, since Dean has yet to pose his previous question. The question about the incident, the one that I will never answer. Because all that these past few nights have showed me was that I was seriously ready to move on, with dear old Dean.

That's not going to happen, though. I mean, yeah, we had a moment watching the fireworks. That doesn't mean that those moments will continue. It's just... it's a bad idea to get attached. I got attached to Landon, and now look what happened? It's just... it's bad all the way around. I leave at the end of the summer, and that is going to have to be that. It isn't all that long left, two months? I can live with this for two months, easy.

"Alright, hmm," Dean pondered his next question, "Do you... regret not being able to remember being a teenager?"

I shook my head instantly, "No." I blushed deeper - I can't even remember why I was blushing in the first place, "Didn't I go over this with Sam?"

"Refresh my memory," Dean suggested, looking down at me and smiling.

I'm not blushing, though. "No, I don't. Knowing where the school is, who the other slayers are, is too dangerous. For me and for the school. Besides, James told me how intense the training is - it doesn't sound like much fun, anyway. I wasn't clubbing and going to spas. It was like boot camp."

Dean nodded, "I guess I could understand that. Your turn."

_For someone who despised the idea of this game, the playing is going fairly smoothly._ "Alright... do you regret always having to take care of Sammy when you were younger?"

"No," Came the immediate reply, "Not once."

A clap of thunder was a fitting reply to the hard, solid remark, "Jeez. Intense much?"

I could just make out Dean's smirk in the dim lighting from the street lights, "Yeah, well, my question. Hmm."

Dean was interrupted by one last dangerously close clap of thunder, which was followed by what can only be described as a torrential downpour. I screamed as the water quickly soaked through my jacket and tank top, surprised by the feeling of warmth that followed it.

It only took me a few seconds to realize I was in Dean's jacket, his arms wrapped securely around me and pulling me into his chest. I pushed away just enough to see, "Go to that rock thing! Let's go!"

Dean led me there, all the while holding his jacket over my head the best he could. It was all very Notebook-esque and romantic, and it struck me, like so many things had struck me this past month, that maybe if Dean and I got together, it wouldn't be the train wreck I'd already planned in my mind.

I mean, I was slowly accepting that I wanted to be with him, and I really hope he wants to be with me. And, well, let's be honest - asking him is out of the question. It's awkward and unnecessary. And I guess that leaves one option, really.

Dean was turned away from me, his jacket finally falling limply to his side. And so I grabbed a hold of his collar, ignoring whatever he was saying about getting back to the hotel and pulling him down towards my mouth, in for a sweet, world-shattering kiss.

_Lay down Sally, rest you in my arms  
Don't you think you need someone just to talk to?  
Lay down Sally, no need to leave so soon  
I've been trying all night long just to talk to you_


	25. First Date

I'm not all that sure I like this one. I like the ending part, cause it's all ominous, but the beginning. -shrugs- It was what I've had planned the whole time. What can you do?

* * *

I bit my lip as I studied my reflection the next morning, trying to ignore the awkwardness I predicted when I went outside. Last night had been... well, after waiting out as much of the storm as we dared before running wildly back to the hotel, I was so embarrassed because of how I'd acted that I ran into my room and locked Dean out for the rest of the night.

I mean, I don't regret it because I don't like Dean, because I'll openly admit now that I do, but I do regret it because I think I totally fucked up. I mean, who was I kidding? Dean only kissed me back last night because he thought he was going to get some. Dean would put himself through anything to get some, especially since his summer has been virtually sex-free, thanks to me.

But now I have to go out there. It's noon, and I'm desperately hungry, and I can't be a hermit forever. Besides, the shower is out there, and I feel gross from all the rain water last night, not to mention humid-salt-water air does nothing for my complexion.

And so now I'm trying to make sure I look nice. I mean, I shouldn't care at all - it's not like just because I'm wearing my tightest jeans, Dean isn't going to make fun of me for my onslaught of emotions last night. But I've got to try, don't I?

Besides, we've all experienced feeling overconfident if we know we look good. And if Dean's going to try and tear me down, then I mine as well start as high up as I can get... without a shower. But I'm wearing some nice-smelling lotion that makes me sparkle. That's nice, right?

Taking a deep breath, I turned towards the door. It led just out between the two queen beds where Dean was sleeping. I knew he was there - I could hear the TV blaring a Saturday morning cartoon. _Three steps, Carrie. Three steps, three breaths. You've just got to take that first one - like when you went on your first solo mission. One foot in front of the other._

I took the horribly terrifying first step, and rewarded myself with air. One more step, and one more breath, and at the next step I was at the door, completely and totally horrified out of my mind, which is really ridiculous. I mean, I've faced demons that are crankier than me in the morning, and slimier than, well, a bunch of slugs. And I'm scared of Dean's humiliation? Ridiculous. I've just got to get over it and go.

With one final burst of courage, I pushed the door open and fell through it, greeted with an odd look from Dean. I half smiled at him as I gripped the door knob, frozen halfway between standing with pride and falling over. _Let the insults begin._

"Hey babe, I got you some breakfast from that store down the road, the one with the breakfast sandwiches." _Babe?_ "I left it on the counter for you. I figured you'd be hungry once you woke up."

Straightening up, I found that Dean was completely serious. He called me babe and got me breakfast. More importantly, he missed out on an opportunity to call me Carden. "Um... thanks."

Biting my lip and hurrying passed him, I made it into the kitchen and took the first deep breath I could manage. True to his word, Dean had left me a single breakfast sandwich from the diner down the road. Hmm, I don't remember him being so considerate before...

_Oh my god,_ I started to push pieces of a puzzle together in my mind, aware that I was quite possibly jamming some pieces where they didn't belong and skewing the final picture, _Babe... breakfast... consideration... Does Dean think we're an us?_

My eyes widening, I stretched my neck out to look in on Dean. _No, no. Dean doesn't date. Dean... has lots of casual sex with nearly-drunken women who mistake him for a movie star. He... hits and splits; he's like a grungy-looking, player that doesn't cheat cause he never has more than one woman anyway. He is the __**ultimate**__ at one night stands._

I bit my lip, kind of wishing that Dean wasn't that way, since I could see myself enjoying a relationship with him. I mean, yeah, it would probably be the most awful relationship in the world, but I can imagine it being nice. Doesn't imagination count for anything anymore?

Then again, the more I thought about it, the more these puzzle pieces fit disturbingly well together. Grabbing my sandwich, I decided to go for it. I mean, I won't do anything drastic, nothing that will get me into more trouble. It'll be something I can easily talk my way out of should the need arise.

Taking a few decisive steps in my most confidence-boosting boots, I found myself at the edge of Dean's bed. His arms were bent behind him, cushioning his head, and he didn't seem to find anything unusual about me approaching his bed.

As quickly as I dared, I sat on the bed next to him, lying down to rest my head on his chest, like last night with the fireworks. I figure it's my safest bet when it comes to finding out how Dean feels about 'us,' or maybe the 'non-us.'

"Hey," Dean complained, and I immediately shot up.

"Sorry, sorry, I-"

I didn't even have time to come up with a decent lie before Dean had his arm around my waist, "No, its fine, I just wanted to tell you not to get crumbs on me."

I bit my lip as Dean slowly led me back to my spot on his chest, an action he promptly followed with stealing a bite of my breakfast sandwich. Alright, so he's letting me use him for a pillow. This proves nothing - he let me use him for a pillow last night and we hadn't even kissed yet!

I could just ask him, but isn't that kind of geeky. No, no, because if he shoots me down, I'm at least going to be cool about it. "So, Dean, I was thinking that, err..." _Smooth, Casa-stutter-a._ "You know, tonight, we have one more night before we go pick up Sam, so we could..." _Spit it out!_ "Go out." I felt Dean tense, which I'm taking as a bad sign.

Nonetheless, I glanced up at him hopefully, leaving my breakfast sandwich balanced on his stomach. "You mean, like, a date?"

"Well, I mean, um, yeah?" God, I should've just been blunt. I'm blunt about everything else in my life. Why not be blunt about Dean, of all people. I mean, it's not the end of the world if he says no. I get on with it, I kick his ass if he says no. Big deal? Not really.

Dean sighed, "Yeah, sure, if that's what you want."

I chewed on my lip, laying my head back down to hide my face, "Do you not want to go? Because if you're not into me, I'd tota-"

"No, no, it's not you that's the problem. It's the whole dating part I'm not into."

I wasn't sure whether or not I was relieved - he liked me, apparently. That is, until he gets me in bed. "Well, if it's a problem, we could just-"

"We'll go, Carden." I poked him hard in the side, but he just laughed at me, "If you want to."

I took a deep breath of relief, "Well, whatever."

Dean chuckled in my ear, "What's up with you? You're usually so bitchy about taking me out."

I blushed, looking up at him, and digging my chin into his sternum.

"Alright, fine," I could feel myself smirking, the natural ease I felt around him slowly returning, along with the pushing and pulling of my stomach and heart to flee my torso, "We're going to a movie tonight. And you have to find the theatre."

"Yes, m'am."

I smiled, fairly overjoyed inside as I leaned forward, with the intent to kiss him. My lips hit their target, and the world fell away again as Dean moved his hand up to grip my waist.

* * *

Reminiscent of this morning, I stood stiffly in front of the mirror, peering at my reflection hopefully. I hadn't seen Dean for the past hour and a half. When I got out of my shower, Dean had run off to the public library to use their computer. I thought about pointing out that I have a lap top, but then I realized I would have the suite to myself, and that I could get ready in peace.

Well, not actual peace. See, when I get ready for dates, I do so by listening to Blink 182 obnoxiously loudly. Except for the song 'First Date,' because that's just nerve-wracking. I mean, who wants to listen to a guy talk about how nervous he is about a first date when you're getting ready for a date? It's just not good, trust me.

Blink 182, though, in general, is uplifting. Fast-paced and intense. I can dance and have fun and still look amazing.

I was in the middle of 'What's My Age Again' and reapplying my lip gloss for the fourth time when Dean leaned in, whistling at me. "We gotta get going if we want to make the movie."

I bit my lip, "Are we getting dinner?"

Dean froze, halfway back out the door, "Uh, we could... get lots of snacks?"

I rolled my eyes, _That'll do._

* * *

_Dean is the least sly guy in the world,_ I decided as I sat in the back seat of the baby. I mean, a drive-in movie theatre? Could he _be_ more transparent? Moreover, it's The Breakfast Club, a movie which I've made it clear to him, and Sam, that I hate. That popular girl gets on my nerves, and the angry sociopath makes me feel awkward.

And yet here I am, at the drive-in, Dean popping gummy bears and drinking his soda obnoxiously loudly next to me, watching The Breakfast Club. Really, I always thought he'd be better at this whole dating thing. Maybe not particularly romantic, but he could do better than this, honestly. He's got at least one brain cell.

I sighed unattractively loud, trying to ignore Dean's slurping. Dean looked over at me, his smirk evident in the changing light of the screen, "Bored yet?"

"I really honestly hate you," I responded, looking over my left shoulder to meet his eyes. Dean just continued to smirk, reaching over to steal some of my snow caps. I gasped, "Dean, those are my dinner!"

Dean smirked as he popped them into his mouth, "So?"

He started to reach back, but I caught his wrist halfway through the motion. Dean smiled, and I realized too late I'd fallen into his trap. A quick tug and I found myself falling into his chest, staring up into his multi-colored smile.

"Ew, you need to brush the teeth."

"Quit trying to kill the mood," Dean replied quietly, leaning down to kiss me softly on the lips.

For the first time in my life, shivers caused by a kiss shot down my spine, and I felt the tips of my fingers start to tingle as I tore them away from my side and ran them through his hair, like I'd imagined at Jill's. And it was all too... perfect.

Dean pulled away suddenly, "I, uh, I think I have to go to the bathroom." He looked extremely confused as he opened the car door, "Sorry, it just, came on really fast."

And with that, Dean took running off towards the bathroom like a five year old, diving through the crowd desperately. I shook my head, completely unsure about how to react. I was considering what jokes would be appropriate when the car door behind me opened, the one I had been sitting next to not five minutes ago.

I instinctively assumed it wasn't Dean and lashed my foot as far out as it would go, arching it up towards where Azazel's head would be, approximately. An arm blocked my foot, followed by an amused, "Whoa there, cowgirl."

I froze at the voice, spinning onto my back. A nearly-identical man to Bill Pullman looked back at me, still holding my leg a few inches away from his face, "Trickster?"  
"Yeah, I was coming to congratulate you. You've got yourself one great catch there."

"You're just coming to congratulate me," I questioned suspiciously. I mean, I relatively like the guy and all, but still, the last time he came around Dean had to wear lace.

Alright, so there's really nothing I don't like about this guy. Sue me.

"Are you going to ask me why I did it," The Trickster questioned bluntly.

"Would you tell me?"

"You two, you need each other. They forced you together because they thought you'd make each other weak, but they don't know you, they don't know Dean. You could make each other stronger, if you tried hard enough."

"They who," I questioned. So now the Trickster's Yoda? Or maybe Dumbledore...

"All in good time, cowgirl. Just don't give up on Dean, would ya? You could save him. And if you save him, you just might have it in you to save the world. They don't see it coming, but you can do it."

My jaw dropped open as the Trickster disappeared in a poof of smoke. Maybe he's more like Dobby...

So that isn't where my mind should be right now, but how am I supposed to cope with that? This isn't Heroes - saving the cheerleader doesn't equal save the world.

At that moment, Dean slid his body back underneath my head, "Hey, I'm back. That was so weird."

"Yeah," I trailed off, not really caring about Dean's bladder.

"Hey, you okay," Dean questioned a moment later, brushing my bangs out of my face.

"Um yeah, I just had a weird... well, the Trickster was here."

Dean groaned, "And you didn't smoke him, did you?"

"He wanted to congratulate us. He said you were a catch."

"I always liked that ma-"

"And then he started talking about 'they' and said that we had to try and make each other stronger and that I had to save you if I wanted to save the world."

Dean's brow furrowed, "Save me? Did he say from what?"

"No," I shook my head, my hair falling back into my face, a fact Dean immediately remedied, "I think he was on, like, PCP, you know? It was all very 'this is the prophecy,' if you get what I'm saying."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. Let's just not worry about it - he's proven himself to be a bad guy before."

I shook my head, trying to shake that strange urge to interrogate Dean further about his apparently impending doom, "Yeah, sure, where were we?"

Dean smiled as I looked up at him, bringing me up to his lips.


	26. Fire in the Hole

This chapter is probably the most important filler chapter **ever.**

PS I just looked at this new reader traffic thing, and did you guys know I had a reader from **BANGLADESH?!**

I'm not ever sure if I spelled that right, but I'm excited.

**Fun fact:** After seeing how Supernatural deals with vampires, I was playing with the idea of Carrie being another 'Special Child' so that I didn't have to worry about the difference in the legends. While her power was never decided on, the first sentence to the prologue I wrote was, "My mother did not die in a house fire on the night of my six-month birthday."

Other first sentenses, written under the impression that Carrie was a Slayer, included, "I'd never been a 'target' before," and, "To say I hated him would be... well, it just wouldn't be right." Eventually, I decided to not ever bother with a prologue.

* * *

I giggled across the seat at Dean, forcing Dean's brow to deepen into a harder scowl, "Shut up, Carden."

I ignored the fact that Dean called me Carden, out of slight pity, "It wouldn't be so funny if you didn't make such a big deal out of it."

"Carden, you freaking branded me," Dean responded, looking at me incredulously before turning back to the road.

I snorted, "It's a bit of lipstick on your cheek, Dean. It won't mark you as a leper."

"I don't get how this stuff doesn't come off," Dean replied stonily.

"It would come off, if you let me use some make-up remov-"

"No way," Dean cut off, "That stuff is for wusses."

"That stuff is to remove make-up," I responded, rolling my eyes at him as he navigated his way through Bucks County.

"Wuss make-up," Dean replied, like that made sense somehow, "Besides, this could all just be solved if you didn't wear make-up that's meant to get you through a war."

"Aren't we in a war," I responded cheekily, "You know, the one that started when you let an army of demons loose?"  
"Make-up isn't meant for war," Dean didn't miss a beat, "It wastes valuable resources, and time."

"Time is a resource," I giggled as we pulled up to the street curb we'd left Sam at, only to find him standing there in a slight shock. Not noticing at all, I rolled down the window, "Hey, Sam, they kick you out already?"

"Huh," Sam questioned, staring intently at me through the opened car window. _Well, someone got a little burnt out with his friends._

"Your friends," I supplied, "They left you standing out here on the curb."

Killing the engine, Dean stepped out of the car and headed to open the trunk as Sam responded, "Oh, no, they're at work, and I figured you guys would be by any minute. Didn't want to bother locking up."

Still keeping his eye on me, Sam followed his brother towards the trunk area, where I saw Sam whispering animatedly, and Dean rolling his eyes a lot. My brow furrowed as I tried to figure out what had Sam so... weird. Do I have gold in my cleavage, or something?

Before I could figure it out, Sam had slipped into the backseat and was grinning from ear to ear. Dean wordlessly slammed the trunk shut before rejoining us. "Hey, boy," Sam greeted Phantom cheerily. A little too cheerily, actually. No one should be happy to be sitting next to a dog.

_Oh, shit, why is he sitting with my dog?!_ I realized the mistake all too late - Sam knew something was up, and Dean was already driving away, anyway. No stopping for a Chinese fire drill now.

Smiling cheekily into the mirror at me, Sam spoke, "So, Carrie, you're sitting in the front seat."

"I am," I muttered, rubbing my temples explicitly. I decided that I didn't want Sam to find out immediately. I wanted to break it to him slowly. Of course, I didn't talk to Dean about any of this, but I think it's safe to assume he doesn't care. Maybe getting the lipstick off his cheek should've been a bigger priority, too.

"Didn't you once tell me that you would never be able to sit in the front seat because Dean's unbearable man stench would eat you."

I snorted into my hand at the quote as Dean hazarded a glance at me, "Carden!"  
"What? That's a great quote!" Besides, not like you can deny it.  
"And Dean - sportin' the lipstick. I'm proud - takes all kinds to build a bridge, you know." Sam laughed as Dean scowled.

"Shut up, man. Damn stuff never comes off."  
"It would come off i-"

"I'm not using make-up remover," Dean responded automatically, looking around, "God, is there anywhere to get a Philly cheese steak around here?"

"Um, try in Philly," I offered, hoping that if I was a smart Alec, Sam would just think Dean started... wearing deodorant, or his man stench wasn't hungry, or whatever.

"Nah, they've got to have someplace around here. Philly isn't too far from here, right? God, I could for a beer, too. How does that sound, guys? A nice cold beer served up by a hot waitress."

"I'm not hungry," Sam responded, almost automatically, his arm shooting up to cover his stomach.

"Well, I'm not either, so I think we can outvote Dean's proposal to eat," I offered. If I side with Sam, this will all go away, right? Especially if Sam notes that I'm not jealous about that waitress comment. I flipped out at him for being an unfaithful piece of shit. At least, not yet.

* * *

Sam smirked as he sat across from Dean in the greasy, smelly bar that claimed to have the best Philly cheese steaks around. Dean, unaffected by Sam's excitement, unabashedly watched his obviously-girlfriend walk to the bathroom, licking bread crumbs from his lip.

"So, Dean, you and Carrie," Sam started, arching a carefully eyebrow at Dean.

Dean glanced at Sam for a minute before realizing what his little brother was talking about, "No, we didn't. Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?"

"Yes, yes I do," Sam replied in mostly-mock-honesty before smirking again at his brother, "You like her?"

Dean paused in his chewing, swallowing a large chunk of steak before nodding, "Yeah, dude, I like her a lot."

Sam nodded, like he knew exactly what Dean meant, despite the fact that his description of his feelings were desperately lacking, "So, did you tell her yet?"

"Tell her about what," Dean asked, his line of sight falling back to his cheese steak happily, like he wasn't going to die in just over six weeks.

"Tell her about your deal," Sam replied quietly, glancing around for any possible demon that might have found them. Dean, instead, visibly deflated, his scowl returning with a vengeance.

"No, man, and I'm not going to. She doesn't need to know."

"Dean, she's not going to leave until after you... will supposedly die."

"I told you to give it up, Sammy," Dean responded harshly, the conversation quickly steering away from Dean's newest attempt at a normal relationship, "I'm going to die. I don't want to, but it's just how it has to be. I knew what I was doing when I sold my soul away. I shouldn't even be alive, anyway."

Dean grumbled the last part, but Sam didn't need to hear it. He knew what was going on in his brother's head, "But Dean, she can help us! She can save you; she has access to knowledge we probably can't even dream about."

Dean's face hardened as he thought about what Carden had said last night, his mind automatically tuning out Sam's insistence,_"And then he started talking about 'they' and said that we had to try and make each other stronger and that I had to save you if I wanted to save the world."_

Dean grit his teeth - why did everyone think they had to save him? He'd made his choice - knowing Sammy was alive was more important to him than his own life. He didn't have much of a future, anyway. If he ever went back into mainstream society, he'd have to change his name at least. And then find a career, and deal with other things he just couldn't see himself getting excited about.

"Dean, are you even listening? This is your life on the line," Sam cut into Dean's thoughts, and Dean just continued to scowl into his sandwich, opting instead for a sip of beer.

"I don't care who Carden knows or how strong she is - we aren't pursuing this anymore. We're just going to smoke all the suckers we can until then, hmm?"

"Dean, whatever happened to all that stuff you said, about going down swinging? About fighting 'til the very end?"  
"We are fighting, Sammy," Dean felt like screaming back, but settled for pounding his fist against the table, "But we aren't fighting this guy. We fight this guy, and we'll get you killed. It's not worth it, Sammy."

Carden paused at the edge of the table, "It's not worth what, guys?"

Dean glanced back up at Carden, at his girlfriend. She scooted in next to him, picking up his arm and wrapping it around her shoulders in an attempt to find comfort. Sam sighed from across them, "Nothing."

"Damn straight, Sammy," Dean replied, glaring at his younger brother before returning to his beer.

"Guys," Carden began, an edgy whine in her voice.

"Don't, Carden. Just leave it. Old Winchester business. It doesn't concern you; it doesn't concern anyone."

"Dean," Carden replied, her brow furrowing up at him, "What do you mean it doesn't concern anyone? It obviously concerns something."

"Ca-"

"Why won't you tell me," she cut him off, her brow furrowing in an obvious distrust. Not distrust in him, necessarily, but distrust in what he was saying. She found it hard to believe that all of this pounding the table and angry glaring was about something that wasn't important. She scoffed at Dean's determined silence, standing and throwing his arm at his side, "Whatever, Dean, I'm going to go walk Tommy and make sure he has enough water."

With that, Carden, stormed away from the table, obviously angry in the worst way. Dean knew this wouldn't break them - she'd been angrier before, specifically when he'd made the crack about Landon and her watcher. But still, it hurt him a little to see her so angry with him, especially when he was so angry at Sam, and obviously at himself.

"Well, thanks a lot, Sam," Dean finally chose to say, tearing a savage bit from the remaining half of his cheese steak.

Sam shrugged, feigning innocence, "Well, maybe you should tel-"

"Sam," Dean replied in the sharp, warning tone that he always imagined a mother would use with her children.

Whoever would use it wear, it worked, and Sam continued to pick at his fries silently, his jaw tightened with words he obviously wanted to say, but thought better of.

* * *

I snorted as I stormed out into the bright parking lot, afternoon sun bearing down on me like a horrible weight. Inside the Impala, I could make out Phantom's silhouette, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he watched people walk in and out of the restaurant.

Throwing open the back door, which Dean always left open for me, I threw myself into the backseat, my arms lacing around Phantom's neck easily. Unperturbed, Phantom continued to sit and pant, not even bothering the shift his weight in any way.

I wasn't crying, but I could feel myself start to sniff an awfully lot, and finally pulled away from my dog to look at him, his black and brown face staring blankly back at me. It seemed wrong, to already be fighting with Dean so fast, but god damn it, he can't even trust me with something that is apparently so inconsequential?

I mean, that had to have been an obvious lie. And, well, I can't force him to tell me, but to lie to me so blatantly like that? It's just... it's disrespectful; it's downright insulting. Does he really think I can't tell when he's angry? He's not even good at hiding it!

"Whatever," I mumbled to myself, finally closing the car door and glancing down at Phantom's water dish, to make sure it was still full. I had half a mind to go back in there and order one more of everything on the menu, to hand out to homeless people, or whatever, just to make Dean pay, but I knew in the end Sam would cover it. Not that either of them ever really earned money.


	27. Toto and Tattoos

Alright, about now I think it's appropriate to mention that the idea for this story was no finalized until after 'Jus in Bello,' so there are things that actually happen in the show that differ from what I have, fact-wise. You should notice by the end of the first section... just, trust me.

* * *

Sam yawned as he paced outside the motel room, his eyes searching the parking lot every few seconds to make sure Ruby hadn't shown up yet. Dean would be, well, angry, to say the least, if he knew that Sam was still working with Ruby. But Sam just couldn't give up hope, not yet. Even if Dean had resigned himself to Hell, Sam couldn't take it.

"Whad-do-ya-got, Spot," Ruby questioned, leaning against the hood of an old green Toyota a few doors down.

Sighing in relief at not being 'stood up,' for lack of a better phrase, Sam quickly made his way towards the green Toyota, an oak folder held securely in his hand. Upon reaching the demon, he handed it to her without any apparent second thought, "This is what I got from that lady you sent me to, Medusa."  
Ruby nodded, "Did she give you anything useful?"

"I don't know - I can't make heads or tails of it other than this Astaroth guy. Internet says he's the Prince of Hell."

Ruby nodded, not the least bit concerned as she continued to leaf through the folder, "Yeah."

"So, he's the one who holds Dean's contract?"

"Best as I can tell," Ruby replied, "Is that what Medusa said?"  
"Yeah, yeah, that's the name she gave me." Sam gestured towards the folder before wincing at the pain it sent through his muscles.

Ruby looked at him, very obviously alarmed, "You okay?"

Sam glared, "You didn't mention the part where Medusa wanted to test me before she gave me any information."

Ruby shrugged, "She always talks to me just fine. Tells me just what I want to know."  
"Well then why didn't you go," Sam questioned, his eyes narrowing. Sam was quickly getting sick as Ruby's progress seemed to move slower and slower.

"Because, Sam, I told you - she would've lied to me because I don't honestly care about Dean," Ruby responded, her eyes just as hard as she looked up at the twenty-three year old. It was mind-blowing, that he was so young, and yet he looked so old, so worn. War can do that to you.

"Yeah, well, how long 'til you can get me some more information," Sam questioned, trying his best not to lash out and scream at Ruby for what she was doing, and how long it was taking. Dean only had a little over a month left.

"Don't know," Ruby finally responded, "Depends on how cooperative my sources are. You just keep on fighting, Sam." And with that, Ruby disappeared, leaving Sam in a very frustrated cloud of black, billowy smoke.

* * *

I sighed as I sat in the front seat, next to Dean. I'm pretty sure this is a ploy on Sam's part to try and get us to make up, but I'm not budging. I couldn't possibly be the one who is wrong in this situation - Dean's being a stubborn ass, and I'm perfect. There are no two sides.

Alright, so there's a whole lot of oversimplification going on there, but I just... urgh, I don't care. I'm not budging, no matter what he says. Either he learns to trust me or the relationship is doomed anyway. I'm not losing anything by standing my ground.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing over at me, "So, Carden." I had half a mind to hit him where it _really_ hurt by kicking through the Impala's window, but I want to see where he's going with this. "I, uh, I can't help but notice that you're not talking to me."

_I should've kicked out the window,_ I quickly decided, pointedly staring at the fast-paced scenery. I don't care what anyone says - the silent treatment isn't immature. It's actually a lot of restraint - I could easily snap his neck if I start talking to him and he says the absolutely most stupid, wrong thing.

Dean shot me a weak smile, which I caught out of the corner of my eye, before sighing, "Look, Carden, I know what you want to hear, but I can't lie to you." _Oh, gag me with a spoon._ "I just... It's Winchester stuff, and I don't want you to have to worry about it. You worry about so much already, and, you know, I thought I was looking out for you."

"You know, Dean," I turned and looked at him, concentrating on being very, very cold, "For someone who doesn't want to lie to me, you're lying out of your ass."

Dean was quiet for a moment, and I resumed my watch out the window, awkward though it was. I'm not even sure where Dean and I are going - to get lunch? Why did I volunteer to go and get lunch with **Dean?** Are we going shopping? Cause Dean would never take me-

"Bitch."

My immediate response was to freak out and flail my arms and feet wildly until Dean's death looked like a crime of passion, but then I saw the sly smirk on his face as he glanced over at me. _Oh, no you aren't._

I stubbornly kept my mouth closed, imagining having tetanus, or whichever disease gives you lockjaw.

"Come on, Carden," Dean smirked, nudging me with his elbow, "You know you want to say it." _Not the point, pea brain._ "Look, Carden, can't you just accept that there are some things I can't tell you right now?"

"Oh, like what, that you hunt demons?"

"Ca-"

"Or that you enjoy waking up to Toto?"

"C-"

"Or maybe that your mom was killed by a demon that possessed my boyfriend. Which one of _those_ wouldn't you like to tell me, Dean?"

He snorted out a breath, obviously angry with me, "You finished?"

"Maybe, let me ponder the multitude of things I know about you that you should probably have kept from me."

Dean gave another breathy snort, "Look, Carden, I get i-"

"No you don't, Dean. I mean, you don't even have the decency to tell me why you can't tell me-"

"I tried!"

"And whatever affects you and Sam kind of affects me now too. We may not be a permanent team or anything, but I'm still here for the time being. I just thought you knew better, Dean, is all."

Dean let out what I hope is his final breathy snort, "I, just... this is big, for me and for Sammy. I'll... I'll tell you when I'm ready too. Okay?"

I glanced at Dean through the side of my vision, remembering the multitude of times I used that excuse on Landon, with the intent to never tell him. Of course, Landon couldn't handle the truth; I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever Dean is going to throw at me. _Well, I'll just be more persistent with Dean than Landon had the heart to be with me._

Dean glanced over at me, meeting my gaze and smiling, innately knowing that he'd been forgiven, "What do you say, bitch?"

I pouted, unwillingly letting the words spill from my mouth, "God, Dean, you're such a hag."

Dean smiled, his arm casually stretching around my shoulders, "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He cleared his throat, "Now, do you remember what Sam sent us out for?"

I shook my head, "Honestly, all I remember is Sam shoving me into the car and yelling 'GO!'"

Dean nodded, "I don't think he actually wanted us to get anything, which kind of makes me want to go get some beer and empty it in his bed."

I snorted, starting to laugh immediately, "God, Dean, you're so immature." Dean cracked a smile over at me before pulling into a gas station.

* * *

I groaned as I looked at the couch, now taken up by a very tall, wide Sam Winchester. _There goes my bed._ "Dean, I never thought you'd actually pour beer on Sam's sheets - the motel is going to have to clean that up, you know!"

"I put down plastic - it isn't soaked into the mattress. We can go clean them tomorrow, if you feel so guilty." Dean emerged from the bathroom, toothpaste already covering his lips as he started to brush his teeth. "Yeah, but Dean, where am _I_ supposed to sleep, now?"

Dean gestured his bed, trying to talk through the plastic, "I ha a clean side beh, you ho."

I grimaced, immediately translating gibberish into English, "Dean, I am **not** sharing a bed with you."

Starting to talk, but quickly giving up and returning to the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste, he finally responded, "Carden, we're dating; it's not a big deal."

"We've only been together for, like, five days! I'm not sharing a bed with you! You're taking the floor," I responded, resolute as I slipped under the covers of what should be Dean's bed. A moment later, Dean joined me, and I started to kick, "No, Dean, I'm not that ea-"

"We're sharing a bed, you baby," Dean responded, pounding his pillow into place and whistling for Phantom to hop up.

"Alright," I relented, already comfortable in my spot, "But you are staying in y- EEK!"

Dean laughed in my ear as he continued to wrap an arm around my stomach, "Bitch."

"Perve! Get off me!"

I pushed and pulled at Dean's arm, him laughing at me all the while, but I couldn't find the right leverage. Finally, Dean managed to choke words through his hilarity, "Carden, didn't you ever spend the night at that other one's?"

"You have such a way with words - you call my first love 'the other one,'" I replied sarcastically, surprised to feel Dean's arm tighten around my stomach. It loosened almost immediately, but still... is Dean jealous? I shook it off; I could think about that after I win. "And yes, I did, after we'd been dating **for a year."**

"Psh, good luck with getting me to wait that long," Dean responded, his thumb slowly starting to draw circles on my stomach.

"I'm an old-fashioned girl; get on your side of the bed."

"It's my bed; the whole thing is my side."

"I'm paying for my own room next time," I grumbled, finally giving up. Dean's relentless and stupid. And his breath is tickling my ear.

* * *

Dean smirked, obviously proud of his idea as we stood, a week later, in a dirty old tattoo parlor. After catching a glimpse of Sam's pentagram on his chest, and being forcibly shown Dean's matching one, Dean decided that while Sammy is on another one of his visits, this one for only a day, he's going to make me get a tattoo.

Right now we're standing in the less-than-pleasing lobby, arguing about where to get put said tattoo. I think on my calf will be fine, but Dean is insisting on the small of my back.

"Dean," I gave up, "That's called a **tramp stamp!"**

"Exactly," Dean replied, looking much too happy about this scheme, "Do you know how sexy you would be?"

"Do you know how slutty I would look," I fired back, the man who I was supposed to be paying smirking at our argument, "No, no, I'm getting it tastefully done. I don't even want this thing, it's just really _practical."_

"So who says you can't mix business with pleasure," Dean questioned, his eyes lighting up.

"I'm not getting a tramp stamp just so you can fulfill some sick fantasy of yours!"

"It's not a sick fantasy, it's a very healthy fantasy," Dean replied, laughing at his own joke before continuing, "Really, Carden-" He started to whisper, "-then demons will come and hit on you in bars cause all they'll se is the tatoo, and you'll be able to tell!"

I rolled my eyes, "Dean, do you think about what you say? Do you really think I want more..." I paused, looking around before lamely coming up with a codename so that I could talk about this at a human level, "Nerds..." Oh god, that was horrible. At least I didn't go with my gut instinct, which was to say 'sheep.' "Er, nerds, hitting on me?"

"But then you can smoke 'em," Dean responded, before looking around and realizing what he just said. "Er, turn them down."

"Dean, it's my tattoo," I gave up trying to convince him to agree with me, and just turned to the man, my 'business' credit card already out, "One tattoo, like his, on my calf."

"May I see your tattoo," the gruff man questioned, and Dean sighed as he pulled down the collar of his shirt.

"See, Carden, mine is in a sexy place for you."

"You didn't get it put there for me - you got it there because it was convenient," I responded, fake glaring at him.

"Alright, if you could please step into the back with me, we'll get you started."

I grabbed Dean's hand as a natural reaction, "Dean, I hate you, but I hate needles more. Don't you dare leave me."

Dean smirked as he let me drag him back, "I won't." For a moment, I froze, _No sarcastic comment? He's acting like a good boyfriend?_ "You wouldn't even be able to look at it if you got the tramp stamp."

I groaned, "Dean!"

Intense things go on in the next chapter, I promise.


	28. What Have You Done

The important chapter I was talking about. And, once you're done, a video, to the namesake of this story. So go hit up youtube, search 'lovincopperpot,' and click on 'Dance with the Devil' by moi.

And guess what I typed this on? My new laptop. My _first_ laptop. Special, yeah?

**Fun fact:** From the very first episode, I knew I wanted to do a story with Dean, mostly because I think Jensen Ackles is sexy. That night, I had a dream in which Dean ran to the end of a dock and screamed, 'Cassie!' really loud and panicked, like he yelled 'Sam,' when Sam spoiler died. I took it as a sign that that would be my character's name, her full name being something along the line of Cassieopia.

Obviously, I scrated that idea when I saw 'Route 666,' though I patted myself on the back for my skills. 'Cassie' was changed to 'Carrie,' which I think sounds better anyway, and I cursed myself when I saw 'What is and What Should Never Be,' since Dean's girlfriend is named 'Carmen,' and is nicknamed 'Carrie.' I decided to go with it, though, since Dean needed a reason to call her 'Carden' and not 'Carrie.' Why? That's so much later in the story it isn't funny.

* * *

I sighed contently as I laid my head against Dean's chest, tracing the outline of my week-old tattoo with my middle finger fondly, "I definitely like it here more than I would like a tramp stamp."

Dean's arm was wrapped securely around my shoulder, the other hand firmly gripping his beer. Carefully, he tipped the beer against his lips, "Yeah, yeah, I guess."

I smirked as I looked up at him, "You would really rather I have a tramp stamp? I'd never even let you see it! On my calf you can see it almost all the time."

A week later, and Dean and I are officially going strong. He still hasn't told me what it is that he thinks is 'too huge' for me to know, but I'm planning on eight-day increments of bothering him about it. Meaning tonight, our official third date (if you don't count the fourth of July or getting the tattoo) was his last night to come clean before I pester him.

Sam sat patiently outside the car, obviously under Dean's instruction. Like Dean thinks something is going to happen - he's done this the past two dates too. I always just call and tell Sam it's alright to come in when Dean goes to get ready for bed. It's kind of funny, really. Sam just walks in, all calm on confident, plopping down with his overworked lap top, and Dean visibly deflates. I feel empowered.

Dean never bothered to respond as I continued to trace the darkened lines the surrounded the pentagram. As opposed to Dean and Sam's tribal sun, I'd had the silhouette of a roaring lion serve as the background, featuring the pentagram in its open mouth instead of teeth. Really, I look so badass.

"Hey, Carden," Dean shifted under me, pushing himself up and dumping my head on the bed with a _plop._ "Can we have a talk?"

I looked up at him warily, one hand still resting on my tensed upper-calf, "Talk about what?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Damn it, just sit up, this is important."

I rolled my eyes easily as I pushed myself up, pulling my jean's leg down and crossing my legs pretzel-style, "Is this about me calling Sam back in before we have sex?"

Dean glared slightly at me, "Carden, this is serious."

My mouth dried up a little, and I realized that he _was_ serious. Who knew sex would be this important to Dean? "Alright, alright, what's up?"

"I… um," Dean stammered, and that was when the rest of my body froze.

Dean **never** stutters. It's opposite of the core of his being - Dean is cool, calm, confident. He lies like it's his sick second nature and charms the waitress into covering the bill whenever we're short the money, or just don't feel like paying. But more importantly, he doesn't stutter, stammer, or trip over his words.

"Dean," I reached forward to take his hand, the one night wrapped around the beer bottle, "What is it?"

Dean looked at my hand for a moment, "Carden, do you remember when we were playing that stupid game at the beach?" My heart stopped, already speeding through sickening implications of what he was going to say. Outwardly, though, I just nodded. "Well, I… I lied."

My heart restarted, only to give one necessary, over exaggerated beat, before putting out again. He lied? He doesn't like me? His favorite color isn't dark blue? He would give up his baby to live a normal life? Oh God, oh God, oh God.

"The scariest moment of my life wasn't when Sammy almost died," Dean chose his words carefully. There's another thing Dean doesn't do - pick his words carefully. Again, my mind shifted through a multitude of possibilities before Dean continued, "It was when Sammy died."

The heartbeat I hadn't even realized started again stopped, and I felt fear creep through my bones - Sam is a Zombie? Does Dean realize it's now my duty to kill him, because I do not want to kill Sam. Sam's a sweetheart. And if this is Dean's way of brushing the job off on me, I might kill him.

I finally muttered a very concise, "Huh?"

"He was stabbed, about eleven months ago; his spinal cord was severed, he… he died in my arms. My little Sammy died in my arms," Dean was muttering by the end, his eyes glazing over and yet at the same time focusing intently on the comforter.

I nodded, half-listening and half-berating myself for not figuring out that Sammy was a zombie sooner. I mean, no living man can be that nice. Wait, hold on, that's horrible reasoning! Zombies aren't even **nice!**

"Dean," I finally ventured, trying to find out just how long Sam had been dead – he isn't decomposed at _all_… at least, not anywhere that I can see. Maybe he wear's make-up… and fills in the holes with putty.

"I don't know. Seems like forever; I didn't really pay attention to dates until this year."

Well, Dean will officially be no help. He's off in la-la-lost-my-brother land, a place I have no business being. Let Dean have his moment, I'm trying to figure things out while I die from lack of heartbeat myself. _Wait,_ I bit my lip, almost shaking off my possible-realization.

_Mine as well check,_ I thought. Maybe getting him talking will bring him back to reality. "Dean, why did you only start paying attention this passed year?"

Dean sucked in a breath, "That's what… that's what I really wanted to talk to you about."

And then Dean gave me one of those inexplicable Dean looks, and I saw what he wanted to say, but couldn't figure how to say it. I knew I must be wrong, but I was too busy thinking the words 'oh my God' like a broken record in my head to actually come up with a better explanation.

"Carden, I… I sold my soul to the Crossroad's demon to bring Sam back to life," Dean finally spit out, sighing once the deed had been done.

**OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD O-**

"Carden, can you… say something," Dean ventured hopefully, and I took a few deep breaths before I felt myself capable of speaking.

"Oh God." There. Very dignified. Holy, even. Like a nun, or a priest.

I knew my voice had cracked, and Dean took a stronger grip on my hand, "Carden?"

"How long," I finally sputtered, the all too familiar feeling of my eyes sinking back into my head quickly taking over all my senses.

"Another month," Dean responded, matching my quiet tone but trying to sound comforting. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Dean's dying.

The mental articulation of the words made everything cosmically clear; I'd killed my first real boyfriend, and my second one had been sentenced to death before I even met him. Horrified, I looked up at Dean, figuring to see fear, hope, one of the many emotions I was feeling. This would be the part he would tell me how we could stop it, how we could fight it.

But… I didn't see any of that. Dean was the picture of cold resignation; Dean has left the building. _What the hell?_ "How are we going to… stop it."

Dean cracked a cruel, cold smile; it didn't even occur to me that he had been joking, but that smile, as defeated as it seemed as he stood and turned away from me, gave me hope that he was, "We don't."

_Whoosh._ That was all the air leaving my body, laughing at me and my misery. "What?"

"It was a part of the deal – if I try and weasel my way of the deal, they'll kill Sam."

"Wh… they can't kill them if they're dead," I responded dumbly, trying to grasp at straws. Cause this isn't happening; not at all. This is all too… scripted, planned. Horribly, horribly cruel.

"Demons don't die, Carden," Dean spit back, sounding very frustrated and turning on me, "Haven't you learned that by now? Azazel was dead, and look what happened."

"Well, God, Dean," I spat back, standing and running a hand shakily through my hair, "Why the fuck would you do this?!"

"I couldn't do it – I can't live without Sammy; he died in my arms, Carden! He fell into my fucking arms!" Dean was so close I could easily make out the lines of red tracing their way through his eyes; had they always been so bloodshot?

"So? I shot my boyfriend; I'm not going to sell my soul to get him back," I yelled back, desperate.

"Oh, sorry, Saint Maria," Dean yelled back. _Saint Maria? Does he mean Santa Maria?_ "Sorry I can't be so virtuous as you."

"Well, damn it, Dean, what the fuck did you think you were doing? Did you think God would give you a freebie just because you save the world a lot?"

Dean sucked in a breath, "I knew what I was doing, Carden, and I thought it was damn worth it."

"Is it worth it to Sammy? Is it worth it to **me?"** If it were true, this would be the part where I scream 'I LOVE YOU' at him in a frenzied, widowed twenty-two year old kind of way.

"Sorry, Carden, you weren't quite high on my list of people whose feelings I should consider when I'm selling my soul to a demon," Dean spat back.

His words shouldn't have hurt – they were logical; we didn't even know each other a year ago. I thought all hunters were idiots who have death wishes, and Dean probably didn't even know what a Slayer was. Logic – for the first time in Dean's apparently very short life.

But they stung, as inexplicable as it was. I felt them all over, and they pounded painfully in my head like a bad migraine until I surrendered to them, forced to accept them at face value and move on, painfully.

"I'm going to save you," I finally declared, sticking my chin out as I felt a single tear slip down my cheek and into the corner of my lips.

The salty taste was forced upon me as Dean leaned forward, glaring at me, "No, Carden, you're not."

"You expect me to just sit down at take this," I questioned, my brow furrowing as more tears slid down, leaving no chance of escaping this without raccoon eyes.

As illogical as it was, we're back to good ol' Dean, Dean nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I do."

"Then why did you tell me," I cried back at him, my jaw dropping in shock. My God, does he want to die?

"You wanted me to, remember," Dean questioned, looking shocked that I would ask such a question.

"Dean, I'm a fighter, what do you think I'm going to do? Take this lying down?"  
"Yes," Dean screamed back, stomping his foot, "I'm not losing Sammy just because you don't want to lose another boyfriend! You're leaving at the end of August anyway," Dean had trouble not screaming this part, his face hard.

"Oh, so I'm leaving, and that's that? We go our separate ways forever? Cause I was kind of planning on still trying, Dean," I said, half-honest. I hadn't thought that far ahead all the much just yet.

"Well, just think of this as me breaking up with you," Dean responded smartly, turning and storming into the bathroom, like he got the final word.

Frustrated, I turned, not looking any farther ahead than the parking lot. Something should happen by then; lightening will strike, or a bear will attack. I mean, that's what God seems to think of my life, anyway. It's just some huge soap opera for his amusement.

Through skewed vision, I made out Sam, already pulling his things out of the car and stretching after being in the car for so long. _Better get to him before the bear gets there first,_ I decided to myself, making it to Sam just as he turned to head for the motel.

I hit him with an 'oof' on his part, and he dropped his bag onto the tar next to me. For my part, I had my hands over my face and was using my body to push myself further into him, for protection. Carefully, Sam wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in.

"Did he tell you," he questioned, fragilely. It was annoying, in the sweetest, most Sam way of being annoying, which wasn't actually very annoying.

I could only wail in response, and Sam nodded comfortingly, his chin bumping into the top of my head. "I've got to save him, Sam," I finally said, my sobbing in a momentary recession. The Trickster's words, cryptic though they were, echoed against the walls of my skull before settling down next to Dean's declaration that a year ago, I didn't matter. "I have to save him," I whispered this time, along the lines of a realization to myself than so Sam would hear.

I just… have to.

Save the jackass, save the world.


	29. Fear

I took a deep sniff as I took another step forward. A cold breeze blew, abnormal for this time of year, and I pulled my arms tighter around myself. Despite crying into Sam for two hours, I can't sleep a wink. I don't even feel all that tired. Just… spent. My body is exhausted, and my mind is exhausted, but I'm so keyed up and I can't stop thinking, shuffling through my mental index card box for the proper reaction to this specific situation.

I came up with absolutely nothing – a life of slaying and forgetting and training didn't prepare me for my boyfriend selling his soul to save his brother. At least he had done it for a good cause – is that what I should focus on? No, no, messing with death and fate is a cosmically bad, literally and figuratively. There is nothing in my mind that can redeem Dean. He's… he's like the dust on the bottom of the list of people I respect. I anti-respect them.

I know there's a real word for it, but I'm lucky my thoughts are in form of articulate. Disrespect. That's it. God, I wish I could sleep. _Ex-boyfriend._ That word suddenly hit me too. Dean wasn't my boyfriend anymore, he's an ex. Just when I was getting used to having a boyfriend again.

Maybe it's not bad luck – maybe I'm just cursed. That would make sense – a hex, or something. For the amusement of a wiccan somewhere, as opposed to a God. Maybe Dean killed the wrong bad guy; maybe _I_ killed the wrong bad guy.

Occasionally I try and think about other things – Phantom; television; gas prices. It never really works. When you get that kind of bomb dropped on you, it's hard not to relate it to everything else that happens. Like suddenly that certain bomb is the nucleus of life.

Next to me I heard a 'tsk, tsk, tsk,' followed by the voice that'll probably always make my heart stop, "You know, Carrie, when you walk by me like that, I sometimes think we could still work it out."

I froze before turning, my eyes colliding with my _other_ ex-boyfriend's, "What are you doing here?"

"You know, I'm just very surprised at you, Carrie. Very sloppy work. Very sloppy."

"How did you find us," I asked, my heart beat increasing as I felt my senses sharpening in preparation for a fight.

And at that question, Azazel's lips twitched up into a smirk, "You think you're safe here? You think demons aren't looking everywhere for your precious little Dean and Sammy? You and your little roomies are on every demons most wanted list, and demons don't take very kindly to ex-generals and one hell-bent murderer."

My jaw hardened, "Dean is not a murderer."

I don't know what that's the part that got my blood boiling. I don't care about Dean anymore, at all. Well, I do, but I shouldn't let it show unless I'm saving his ass. Maybe when he doesn't only have a month left he'll open his frickin' eyes and realize how big of a bastard he is, and then pigs will come flying out of his ass.

Azazel sucked in a breath, leaning casually against a tree as a car sped by, his headlights forcing his eyes to turn gold momentarily, "I don't know if that's what you want to be worried about right now."

My brow furrowed and, for lack of better defense, I questioned, "Huh?"

"Well, I mean, I found you in just a few minutes of trying; what makes you think another demon can't find Dean just as easily?"

My eyes widened as what Azazel said quickly sunk in and I turned back to the motel, certain of Dean's impending doom. After all, he was under contract, and demons are out there who can apparently find him as easy as snapping their fingers. It didn't occur to me why Azazel was warning me my b… Dean was being attacked. I just knew I had to save him. God damn it, I'm not losing him twice in one night. God damn it all.

Breath was… not an issue. Air didn't matter; all that mattered was that I'm three times as far from the motel as I thought I was. If I hadn't made a point not to turn, I would've assumed I took a wrong turn and just given up and broken down.

Crazily enough, as I ran, it was like my little Dean/Carrie life flashed before my eyes. The beach, the fireworks, the drive-in movie theatre. Oh God, not twice in one night. Please, Lord, I know you tend to not pity me in any way, since that's just not so fun, but God, please, not twice in one night.

The motel couldn't have been any farther, it seemed. And by the time I got there, my throat burned and my heart felt like it was straining to break out of my skin. It was ridiculous, especially since I still jogged often enough that running shouldn't feel like it's a dream and my legs are dipped in cement.

I didn't have a key, a fact my mind screamed at me as I nearly tumbled down the walkway outside of our motel. I hadn't figured that I'd be coming back tonight; my eyes were already tearing up at the image of Dean's body, bloody and torn and tortured by a demon because I'd walked too far that night. Oh God, not twice. Any other time, but not tonight, not twice.

With an unnervingly defeated feeling, I twisted and turned at the doorknob, pushing and pulling at the door. Oh God, not twice. I turned, then, throwing myself against the door half-heartedly, sobs escaping my body like hiccups. Swallowing back the tears momentarily, I took a running started at the door, cracking the lock and throwing the door open.

Sam had fallen asleep in the car, and I half-expected the room to be empty and torn to shreds. But it was… it was just like I left it. Decently organized, three suitcases lined up underneath the TV, and Dean sleeping quietly in the bed farthest from the door.

Well, not quietly sleeping, not anymore. The moment the door cracked open he shot up in bed, automatically grabbing his gun from under his pillow and pointing it at me. I held up my hands in defense, only able to spit out a breathy, cracking whisper, "Dean, Dean, don't shoot. It's me."

Slowly, Dean stood, trying to get an advantage before lowering his gun, his voice hard and confused, "Carden?"

I let out a small sob – Carden. He called me Carden. He's going to be alright. Oh thank God. Another small sob escaped before I hopped across the first bed, theoretically Sam's bed, and landed with my arms clutching around Dean's neck. God help me, I just can't bring myself to lose him.

Desperate, and ignoring the feeling of Dean's gun as it fell to the floor, miraculously not going off, I buried my head into the crevice of his neck and breathing deeply, "I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone. I'm scared, Dean. I've just got to save you, Dean. I can't lose you; not you too."

His arms tense, Dean tried to figure out what to do. _Come on, Dean,_ I begged, _You did it before. You need it too, I swear._ Slowly, Dean wrapped his arms around my lower back, his thumb slowly tracing the circle before he slowly let his head rest on mine, sandwiching me. It was comfortable, but it was comforting, if that makes sense. Dean was all around me, enveloping me, and he was alive. It was one of those moments that nothing else mattered.

"Shh," Dean finally muttered, his stubble brushing against my temple as he nodded, "Its fine. We'll be fine; we… you'll make it. You always make it; you're a fighter, Carden. My gloves are just worn o-"

"Don't," I said, pulling away far enough to look at him. And somewhere in me, something snapped, _I'm not losing him. Not tonight – it's too soon._ I sniffed as I tried to meet Dean's eyes, hazel and questioning, "Please, just, don't."

For a moment, Dean's eyes took on a confused glare in the lacking-light of the motel room before he seemed to realize that I didn't want this to be how we break up, how we leave each other. "I'm sorry."

I never thought I'd live to see the day Dean Winchester seriously apologized to me. Then again, I never thought I'd see the day I'd cry for Dean Winchester.

But mid my listing of all the firsts of the night, Dean finally acted on his suspicions, leaning down and pressing his lips into mine. There was a spark between us, and I weaved my hands hopefully through his hair. Forget being a slut and having honor – his life's too short for that.

I moaned into his mouth as he slipped his tongue carefully between my lips; another first of the night. Yeah, I'm pretty bitchy, but I only did it to be sure Dean wouldn't think he could just leave me after he was finished.

Hesitantly, Dean back up, his knees collapsing against the bed and I willingly fell into his lap. I could tell he was shocked, but I also knew for a fact he wouldn't question it. Thank Lord for that – we don't even have time for second thoughts anymore.

* * *

The next morning, I was horrified to find I was waking up alone. Much like last night, images of Dean being dragged out of the hotel room by an army of demons, screaming my name as I slept soundly through, ran through my head, and I would've fallen over if I was standing up.

Of course, a second later, the sound of the shower filled my ears, and I was assured that Dean had lived through the night. One down, another thirty years worth to go. Because honestly, I don't care what Dean wants - I will save him. Sam can help me, or he cannot. Neither of them can stop me – I've got sources outside of them and my books.

It was at the moment that my resolution was the strongest that, assumingly, Sam opened the door from outside and made his way into the motel room and cracked his neck, groaning. I probably should've woken him up and told him it was alright to come in.

The weight shifted on the bed, and then Sam shook my leg, "Carrie? Carrie?"

I peeked open an eye before pulling the sheet up to my neck, as opposed to tucked under my arm pits, and sat up. "Yeah?"

"Were you serious last night? About saving Dean?"

I nodded immediately, "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Sam sighed, smiling in relief, "Okay, good. Cause I have some information for us."

I nodded as Sam held me a hand-written file, "Where did you get this?"

"Places," Sam responded cryptically, before continuing, "I have someone working on it already, but I think if you put some of your resources into it, we can get more information on it. Do you have someone?"

I nodded, reaching carefully out towards the bedside table and grabbing my cell phone, "Yeah, yeah."

"Great, have them dig up everything they can on the demon 'Astaroth,' and how to kill demons."

I nodded, already dialing and holding the speaker away from my mouth, "Who do you have working on it?"

Of course, at that moment, before Sam could answer, the school's receptionist picked up, "Hello, Princess Flower's Shop, Katrina spe-"

"This is Carden Adair," I replied forcefully, "I need to be put through to Research Specialist 34892. It's urgent."

"You have your own Researcher," Sam questioned, and I nodded at him as I awaited the woman to answer her phone. Every Research Specialist has five Slayer/Watcher pairings, and are pretty much really, really huge nerds.

"Carden?"

"Yeah, it's me. Unicorn made of chocolate." Sam raised an eyebrow, his mouth gaping at my words. 'Password' I mouthed at him, before continuing, "I need some research done."

"Case file says you're off duty 'til further notice."

"Consider this a personal favor," I responded easily. "I need to know everything there is to know about the demon Astaroth and on killing demons."

"You know how to kill d-"

"No, not vanquishing demons or exorcising them, **killing** them. Get it?"

"Yeah," the woman responded, sounding put out.

"Thanks; call me when you have something."

"Deadline?"

"Within two weeks," I responded. Sure, I have a month, but researchers are never on time.

At that moment, I opened my mouth to question Sam more intensely about the information in my hands, but of course Dean simultaneously walked out of the bathroom, water dripping down his chest and disappearing into his towel. Both speechless and realizing that I probably shouldn't talk about this in front of Dean, I slipped the folder under my pillow, smiling innocently. _This might get tricky._


	30. Surprise

Hey guys - another video is up. This one entitled 'Vacuum Bag.' It was up before, but I kept forgetting to tell you.

**Fun fact:** When Carrie talks about Dean 'saving the world a lot,' it's homage to Buffy. On her tombstone after she dies at the end of the fifth season, it is written that, "She saved the world a lot."

* * *

I sighed as I sat next to Dean in the diner, wondering over the menu uselessly. None of these places ever have anything different; burger, fries, hot dog, salad, pie. Sometimes they try to make them sound fancy, or add a crazy condiment, but that stuff almost never tastes good.

Dean smiled at the waitress slyly; yes, everything was back to normal. Dean was dating me and still using waitresses to pick up our tab, Sam and I were cracking jokes at Dean's intelligence and hormonal levels, and Dean, and we're still shoving our heads into our menus any time a cop comes around, for fear they'll recognize Dean and Sam and their cover will be blown.

So, yeah, there's also the added factor that Dean's going to be dead before I leave and I have a Research Specialist with four underlings working on research, plus whoever Sam's got. That's not a part of the diner, though, so I'm pushing it to the back of my mind.

"Hi there, are ya'll ready to order," the girl smiled, her Southern accent particularly annoying to me. Dean smiled, almost hungrily, leaving me to shift uncomfortably. I mean, when he hits on a waitress to cover the tab, that's alright. I even appreciate it, because it means I don't have to pay. But he's never looked quite like _that_ before.

"Yes, I certainly am," Dean muttered, but I cut him off with my order. I mean, could Dean put his eyes back into his head, please?

The girl winked as she jotted down Dean's order, and I sat there, gawking. I mean, how does he even do it? He smells funky! He can't spell 'mischievous!' I mean, sure, he's pretty damn sexy, but still? What kind of society do we live in, where girls fall instantly for sexy guys?

Dean cleared his throat, looking at me and then at Sam before smiling, "I, uh, have to hit the head. Be right back."

I bit my lip as Dean shot up, walking towards the neon-lights that spelled out 'RESTROOM.' Sam had other things in mind, and pulled a notepad out from inside his jacket, "Alright, we have to get to work."

"Wh-"

"This is my battle plan – we use the information you're getting and we head to Bobby's as soon as possible."

"Bobby's?"

Sam ignored my obvious confusion as I looked between the restroom sign and Sam's notebook, "We'll have to use the element of surprise to our advantage. He's powerful – he's got to be to be able to control reality the way he does."

I was starting to get a very bad feeling about all this, "Sam, hold that thought, I've got to go to the bathroom too."

Sam watched me, slack-jawed, as I stood and rounded the counter to look into the hallway that led into the bathrooms. And then Dean took a firm hold of my heart and he stomped on it, just by standing next to the door to the kitchen, his hand placed firmly next to her head a she leaned against the wall, smiling and flirting at him.

For a few seconds, or maybe I few minutes, I stood there in awe; it couldn't be happening. Had I somehow imagined last night? Hadn't Dean and I made up? The feeling of Sam coming to stand behind me sparked senses back to life, and I jumped into action.

Suppressing a war cry, I ran straight forward, kicking my leg out into Dean's shoulder and stumbling off balance. It was a stupid move in every respect – I could've hit the slut waitress; I could sent myself sailing right into a fluorescent light; I definitely made it startling clear to everyone who could see that there was something a little off on my physical abilities.

Dean fell to the ground, screaming curses at me when he realized what was happening. I landed, nearly on his head – another bad move. I didn't care, though. I landed, my legs squarely on either side of his body, and turned to kick him savagely in the stomach. He 'oofed,' but was prepared for my next kick.

I screamed in pain as he grabbed my foot and twisted it, forcing me to the ground as I lost my balance. "Carden, what the hell," Dean shouted as I stood to run. Now it was just imperitive that we got out of these, especially me. I don't want to be seen like this.

"Guys," Sam screamed, obviously hoping vainly to break up the fight and go get breakfast without resorting to 'did you forget your medication?'

But it was too late; I was gone out the emergency exit. Sirens blared behind me, but I didn't stop. Dean and Sam could do what they wanted; the motel was only a mile or so away; if I run fast enough I can be there in less than ten minutes. And after that? I burn everything of Dean's.

I guess I should've guessed; Dean had never officially said we were back together. But I just felt so… dirty. So disgustingly used in the most common, worst kind of way. I wasn't sure if I was crying, but I knew that my breaths were shuddering and that I was hurt.

That's the word for what I was – hurt. Like I hadn't been in the loop, or something. Like Dean had kept some monumentally huge secret to himself and felt that hitting on a waitress in a diner was the best way he could think of telling me.

Ironic, right? After all this, our breaking up is the big secret.

* * *

I sat quietly on the bed as Dean and Sam moved around me; we were on the run, since the cops would probably be showing up any minute. Dean was cursing me out continuously for bringing attention to ourselves and putting us on the run. What would he and Sam do if they were blacklisted again? What if the cops came before we could get out?

It was like he hadn't been on the run from the cops before, or something. Like I'd brought upon the plague or something. Idiot.

Still mumbling, Dean barged out the door, his duffel bag in tow. I sighed, standing and grabbing my duffel bag to follow him out. Looks like I'm due for a very grumpy car ride. I haven't actually said anything to Dean since he and Sam came driving like mad men into the driveway, skidding into the parking spot and Dean laying down on the horn.

If I weren't pissed and upset, it would be funny; Dean has flicked Holy Water at me to make sure I'm not possessed, forced a thermometer under my tongue to see if I'm sick, and is now assuming that I'm in the 'bad part of the cycle.' That doesn't stop him from bitching me and my 'mysterious feminine ways' out.

With a step forward, I felt myself being pulled two steps back by Sam's strong hand. At least, it had better be Sam's. "Carrie, I… I have to ask you something."

With a hard glance over my shoulder, I could tell Sam was nervous. He wasn't stupid like Dean – he knew why I had freaked out at the diner; he knew I was actually angry at Dean, and he had **better** know that I have every right to be. He's a jerk, and obviously very, very stupid.

"Yeah," I finally sighed, pulling my arm out of Sam's grasp. It's one thing to stand and talk to the idiot's brother; it's another to let _anyone_ manhandle me. Phantom whined from my side, scratching at the door hopefully.

"Are, you… well, do you still want to save Dean?"

My eyebrows shot up; I hadn't even thought about whether or not saving Dean should be a priority. I already had the Research Specialist working on it, and she'll ask questions if I called it all off, not to mention be pretty peeved at me.

But, Dean's such a… jerk. Do I really want him alive and, well, _breeding?_ Oh my God, what if Dean has children already! He probably wouldn't even know, but they'd be distinguishable on sight – cocky pick-up lines; an unhealthy obsession with an old, junky car…

_Dean's __not__ a murderer,_ my mind screamed at me, reminding me of how I'd felt last night. Dean was, well… he was a good guy. He saved lives; lots and lots of lives. And if I save him, well… he'll _probably_ save more. Dean's a…. a horrible boyfriend, but a good person.

The question, then, is should I bother with saving a guy who I absolutely abhor at this moment, or should I let the chips fall where they may and accept fate as it is? One is definitely less intense, more relaxing, easier, but the other is… right.

I sighed, "Yeah, yeah, I do."

Sam smiled, obviously overjoyed, "Great, alright." Leaning forward to grab my bags for me, Sam stepped in front of me, "Because we're going to need all the help we can get on this." He started for the door, and then turned on quickly, "Are you alright with working with demons?"

"I…" I stopped short behind Sam, caught off guard by his… odd question. "What?"

"Working with demons – are you for or against?"

"Against," I replied, looking at him oddly. Who the hell works with demons?

"Alright," Sam trailed off, "We'll have a talk about that later."

"Whoa, whoa, wh-"

Dean burst back into the room, "And another thing, Carden-" Sam slipped passed his brother out of the room, whistling for Phantom to follow and leave us to fight it out. "What in the hell gives you the right to waltz into **my** life th-"

"Dean, just shut your frickin' mouth," I shouted back at him, speaking our first words since before we left for breakfast. The words shocked him into silence, and I wasn't sure how to continue. I finally got out a, "Do you even know why I did it?"

Dean sucked in a breath, taking a step back and trying to quickly figure out the right answer. He finally decided on his previous assumption, "The bad part of the cycle."

I rolled my eyes – he says it like it's four and he's talking about his private parts. "It's called PMS, Dean, and no, you're so far off I should kick you again." Dean's brow furrowed before I forced myself to continue, to my extreme embarrassment, "I mean, did last night mean nothing to you?"

Dean obviously finally understood, and he scoffed, "Look, Carden, I told you last night."

"I know you told me, Dean, but… well, that's just disrespectful; it's wrong," I tried to force what it was, exactly, into words. Of course, it didn't work; words stopped working between me and Dean a long, long while ago. "It's just… _mean,"_ I finally decided on.

"Carden, you can't expect me… it's my last month alive!"

"I know, but that doesn't change anything to **me,"** I responded automatically, and Dean was finally quieted. Thank the Lord – I need time to figure all this out.

I pushed passed him, following Sam's footsteps and hurrying out the door as I heard the echo of sirens coming over from the diner. Dean might want to snap his jaw shut and get going – no doubt someone knows where we're staying, and he _does_ have such a strong disliking for cops.


	31. I Know Something You Don't Know

I yawned into my book as I brought my knees up to my chin, my eyes watering and blurring with fatigue. Sam is… well, he's very intense about saving his brother. I always kind of thought that saving his brother would be a more casual, side thing. I thought we wouldn't have time to research all that much since we had to keep it all a bit secret from Dean.

I did _not_ think that would be doing research every single night while Dean has crazy rabbit hormone sex with another bimbo he picked up in a bar. Sam has been slowly directing Dean towards Bobby's house. Bobby, by the way, is like some mentor to the Winchester boys. I don't know if I'm excited to the boys who taught the Winchesters a bit of what they know, or if I'm dreading this whole 'save the jackass' business.

It just all seems… very tiring, all the sudden. Sam is intent, and I understand why. If it were one of my brothers on the line, I'd be just as dedicated. But still, every single night. And late, too, with no real progress. I think if we just took a night off and hit up a demon bar, and maybe shot up the place a little, we'd make some progress.

I'm just itching for a fight; god damn it, I'm itching for **anything.** Just no more research and driving and reading. Oh my God, by the end of all this, I won't even be able to read a bill board.

At least Sam's being a real sport about it. He buys me all my coffee and sugar and always keeps our private cooler stocked up. He always takes care of lying to Dean for the two of us about what we did. According to Dean, I've been learning how to play poker for the past three nights. Like it takes anyone that long – poker is three quarters chance, anyway.

I locked my knees as another wave hit me, and Sam looked over his shoulder at me, clicking off his flashlight politely and using it to mark his place in his book, "You doing alright back there, Carrie?"

I groaned – arching my back. God, I think I just need to go for a walk. "Yeah, yeah, I'm just going to… call my Research Specialist. Leave her a message that I need the info ASAP."

Sam nodded, turning back to his book and flipping it open, "Alright, just don't go far. We're going to have a visitor tonight, and we're going to have a talk before she gets here."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled back, opening the car and smiling as Phantom's tags jingled after me.

Phantom has risen above and beyond the call of duty this week. It's like he knows I'm not on my game, and he's doing what I should be doing in my stead. For instance, he barks at Dean's hussies, and growls at Dean. He's a faithful sidekick that's way cuter and more threatening. Thank the Lord for him – he's even a pillow for me when we do late nights in the Impala. And lately, that's every night.

My ankles and knees groaned under the weight, and I flexed my fingers experimentally before reaching into my pocket and pulling out the cell phone. I licked my lips at the ringtone, my eyes falling lazily shut as I fell back against the Impala's back door. Phantom trotted off to sniff at some bushes and lift his leg.

Despite it being summer, I felt cold enough to shiver as I directed the receptionist at the 'flower shop' to my Research Specialist. "Hey," I greeted her unceremoniously, "What've you got for me?"

"Well, I don't have anything for you on killing demons. I really don't unde-"

"Cut the crap, what have you got for me on demon?" God, do I really need a lecture?

The woman sighed, "Well, Astaroth is one of the Princes of Hell. He was supposedly the Prince of accusers and inquisitors." I knocked quickly on the window, which Sam promptly rolled down. I snapped, scribbling my hand until Sam handed out a pen and pad.

The woman had gone on, but I interrupted her, "Could you start all that again, please?"

I flinched at her annoyed sigh, but scribbled down my notes, "Astaroth is a Prince of Hell, in charge of all the accusers and inquisitors. He seduces by means of laziness and vanity, which causes him to be associated with Aphrodite, and also, in some cultures, fertility." I nodded, jotting down key words; seduces by laziness, vanity; like Aphrodite. "He's also associated closely with four other demons – Aamon, Pruslas, Barbatos, and Rashaverak. He's also thought to be one of the many demons that have the power to make deals with humans. His arch-apostle was the Saint Bartholomew."

I finished the notes with an over-exaggerated period as Phantom trotted back to my side, looking up at me with wide eyes, "Is that it?"

"That's all I could get for you. Hope it helps."

"Yeah, yeah, it helps a bunch. What about these four henchmen of his – what can you tell me about them?"

I heard a few keys being tapped on the keyboard, "Uh, well, Aamon was a prominent demon for quite a while, but we haven't reported any activity from him for a while. He was hard to keep tabs of, though." I nodded, jotting it down, as she continued, "We don't have a lot of extra information on the others, though, just what you can find on the internet."

"The internet information is verified?" I readjusted the phone, my eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, as far as we can tell. They're powerful demons, but they aren't big sharers."

"Alright, th-"

"Are you planning on, well… are you going up against Astaroth," the woman asked, and I froze at the concern in her voice.

Then again, I can't technically say that I'm hunting when I'm supposed to be off-duty. "Why?" Cryptic enough.

"Well, it's just… he's killed every Slayer we've put him up against. We eventually just gave up."

"You know where he is," I questioned. How could she leave **that** out?

"Well, yes. He doesn't leave this one town – Monroe City, Missouri. Been there ever since he got out in 2006, in that big demon exodus when someone opened the Devil's Gate."

I sighed, "Alright, thanks a lot. Take care, now."

Without even thinking of heeding her warning, I flipped the phone shut, turning to get back in and jumping when I saw a blonde girl glaring at me, her hip jutted out. She looked at me oddly, "Who are you?"

Phantom started to growl, and I reflexively went to grab for Brady when Sam jumped out of the car, "Carrie! Ruby!"

Ruby's eyes flashed black, and Sam suddenly fell very, very far away. Let's just say I have a prejudice against people with black eyes. Quickly fishing Brady out of my pocket and flipping him open, I threw the knife at the demon. She caught it easily, and in complete Slayer-mode I ducked as she flipped it back at me.

Brady went skidding across the tar parking lot as I heard Ruby's boots clack off the ground, and she quickly appeared above me with a pointed heel. I rolled and then a fist-fight broke out. It all blurred together – the girl was strong, but young. Tough, but at the same time I was horrified, and pissed. She couldn't be here to take Dean. I wouldn't let her. I just needed to get Brady – she couldn't stand a straight shot of salt-encrusted iron to the heart.

"Guys, guys," Sam whisper-yelled at the two of us as he kicked and punched. I grabbed a handful of the girl's hair, completely ignoring the younger, more sensitive Winchester. The girl screamed before kicking at my knees, knocking me onto my back. "Ruby," Sam screamed at the girl, hooking his arms around the girl as she drew a knife.

She squirmed free of him, turning on him wildly, "Who the hell is this girl, Sam? What the hell are you doing with a Slayer?!"

I took the free moment to scramble the remaining distance to Brady, turning just in time to hear Sam scream at me, "Carrie, just stop it! We're all on the same side!"

Sam stepped defensively in front of the demon, and I gaped at him, "We're all on the same side! Sam, she's a demon. Did you miss the part where she's a demon!?"

"Oh, get over yourself, Princess, We all know what you think – you're simple like that." I gaped, and I ran at her mercilessly… until Sam stopped me.

I kicked my legs uselessly in the air, throwing all my weight forward, "Let me at her! She's a demon, Sam!"

"God, you're worse than Dean," Sam muttered to himself as he threw me back into the Impala, "She's on our side, Carrie! She wants to save Dean."

"Well, not exactly," Ruby interjected, "I just want you guys to win."

"See? Get her out of here," I screamed, before starting into Latin. I have the first five words of the exorcising ritual memorized – maybe it'll scare her off.

"She's my informant, Carrie. She's going to save Dean with us," Sam said, pinning me to the car and forcing me to look at him in the eye, "Now you can either calm down and listen to what she has to say, or I can lock you in the Impala. Your choice."

I glared at him, but hissed at my growling puppy dog, "Phantom, leave it."

Sam sighed as he let go of me, Phantom growling at him once before laying down quietly, studying Ruby carefully. Turning, Sam regarded Ruby quietly for a moment before, "Well, what do you have?"

Ruby sighed, "A big crap load of nothing. This guy has everyone too scared to give up anything about him."

"Oh really? Cause I just got all the information on him we'll need," I bluffed, waving the notepad at her, "Some informant you are."

"You have everything we'll need," Ruby challenged, taking a step towards me. She raised an eyebrow at me and pursed her lips, and I glared back at her.

"I sure as hell got more than you did, demon." I spit the words at her, and she snatched the notepad out of my hands.

She mulled over it for a few seconds, strolling around as Sam kept himself carefully placed between me and Ruby. She clucked her tongue before pausing, "I know one of these names."

"You mean the title, Astaroth, the demon you were supposed to find out about?"

Ruby turned, her eyes turning black with her glare, "No, one of these next to the title 'henchman.' Pruslas – I know him. Real bastard, he is."

I raised a careful eyebrow, "Oh, you know him personally?"

"No, not personally. But he is well known – real womanizer. Not really a threat, for all his power."

"You think we could get something about killing Astaroth out of him?"

Ruby sighed, "Well, if anyone would know, and would be willing to tell us, it would be Pruslas. You'll have to be tricky, though. He'll make a deal for anything, and really loves women. Women love him, too."

Sam wrinkled his nose, and I couldn't help myself, "So, he's like a dead Dean?"

Sam glared at me, and Ruby's eyes turned to me again immediately, "He's no joke. He's powerful; he got by because he doesn't show himself off."

"Can you find out where we he is?"

Ruby nodded, "He shouldn't be too hard to find."

And then, with a poof of smoke she left me and Sam, standing close to each other in front of the Impala. Then, for the first time that night, I heard a door open, but I ignored it. Instead, I glared at Sam, whispering at him, "What do you think you're doing – in cahoots with a demon. You're going to get yourself killed."

Sam sighed, "I know it's unorthodox, but I really have no choice. We need all the help we can get if we're going to-"

I heard a throat clear, and it was then that I remembered the door opening. Sam and I looked towards the sound together, and our jaws dropped in time to see Dean, boxers barely pulled on as he regarded us with narrow eyes.

"De-" I started, taking a step away and fully aware of how this looked.

But Dean just turned away and shut the door in my face. I shouldn't have felt guilty – Dean was the one having sex with whatever flavor of the day sauntered his way. I wasn't even doing anything with Sam besides, you know, saving his life. Besides, Dean said it himself – he and I aren't a thing anymore. We're done. Neither of us have any right to be upset. At all.


	32. God Help the Outcasts

Alright, you guys don't even want to know how much fate has been conspiring against me. First, I move to school. Decent enough. Than, as I'm in the middle of writing all my chapters, my trial version of MS Word 2007 ends. It didn't even let me copy it to another notepad. So I was like, "Whatever, download it to and write it on there. Bad spelling can be dealt with if I proof read well.' Too bad I forgot they turn off my internet at 11:30, so that when I went to save it at midnight I lost **everything** I'd done. Not to mention most of my friends don't know what I mean when I say, "Guys, can we all just be nice to each other today?" It's ridiculous.

Hence, fate conspired against me. And I'm very sorry, but I persevered. And I also went crazy and gave you guys an extra thousand words, cause it was necessary. Trust me.

**Fun fact:** Phantom is named after the Phantom of the Opera. Why? Because I needed a semi-spooky name that I could deal with. Then, as I was taking my dog to obediance training, we walked passed a kitten up for adoption named 'Phantom' and I took it as a sign.

* * *

I sighed as I sucked my teeth awkwardly, reading carefully over one of James' old diaries from before he was a Watcher and back when he was a Wizard, or whatever the males are these days. They're actually kind of interesting, even if I'm pretty sure nothing he's saying or documenting will help Dean at all.

All that's really happening is that I'm getting kind of annoyed, and worried. He keeps mentioning some guy named 'Nero,' and I've got this really bad feeling this 'Nero' is just another bad guy who wants Dean dead. Then again, as Dean's deadline is drawing nearer and nearer, all I'm seeing are things that want Dean dead. I swear, I thought a fire hydrant looked sinister today.

"So, what the hell you reading back there, Carden," Dean questioned, looking at me in through his rear view mirror. Four days left, officially, and Sam and I are in overdrive. I'm reading all the time and according to Dean Sam is watching a disturbing amount of porn.

The words tumbled out before I even figured I should think about them – being forced to read while in a car makes me cranky like that. "I think, of the two of us, Dean, you would be the one to know a lot more about hell."

Dean glared back at me, and Sam coughed hopefully. I took the sign, as did Dean, and we retreated back to our respective corners. It's weird – ever since Dean saw the absolute nothing that happened between me and Sam a few nights back, he's been all crabby and 'grr' like. I swear, some days I just want to fall out of the car while it's moving.

A few minutes later, and Sam complained that his bladder was full. That was code for, "Carrie, I might possibly have something, but I need you to follow me to the bathroom so we can talk about it in private." Dean, being the caring soul that he is, let Sam have a rest stop thirty seconds later, and Sam scurried off, leaving his laptop in the front seat. Strange, I guess he actually had to pee.

Nonetheless, Phantom has to pee too. I made up my mind as I opened the car door, letting my puppy lead the way out. To my surprise, Dean got out after me, following me towards the grassy lawn I was heading for. It might be private property, but oh well.

Sam was slowly running Dean towards Monroe City, apparently because whenever the boys get bored they just drive around to random cities and hope to find a hunt. Even in his last days, he's hunting. And he doesn't even seem bothered by it.

"So," Dean started awkwardly, toeing the dirt with his toe, "You and Sam, huh?"

I rolled me eyes – this has to be the worst conversation of my entire life. I'd take James' stuttering about the birds and the bees and the boys before I go through this conversation for another five seconds. "No, not me and Sam."

"Bu-"

"We were having an argument, Dean. Sorry we didn't want to wake your playboy bunny," I shot back coldly, my look trying to communicate the fact that he had no right to care anymore. He gave up that right when he dumped me and started taking on however many sluts he could find in a bar.

Dean's brow darkened, "Carden, you kno-"

"Oh, save it, Dean," I felt my face darken as I wrapped my arms around myself. I kind of wished we were back in Florida. It seemed too cold, here. That kind of cold that's... supernatural. I'm sure Dean feels it, too, it's in our blood, but I don't think he wants to acknowledge it. Or maybe he just thinks it's nothing more than something to hunt. He doesn't realize we're driving him to his death.

"Fighting like we used to, huh Carden?" Dean stuck his hands into his pockets, watching as Phantom sniffed around, and Dean sounded surprisingly... resigned. His eyes looked worn, and I'd noticed it before, but never with this shocking clarity. It's the cold that's doing this, but it makes me kind of... miss him.

* * *

Twenty-nine hours to go, and I'm amazed to find that Dean has given up his last night to actually let us into the motel room without the threat of a drunken waitress and him tumbling in, half-naked at four in the morning and groping like beasts straight out of 'Where the Wild Things Are.'

And in just thirty-six hours, I'm due on a train Philadelphia-bound, to meet my new Watcher, a woman by the name of Susan Pendle, whose had four Slayers in her fifteen-year Watcher record. Not that impressing, especially since she got most of them fresh out of school. I'm not scared, though. I've got a feeling that even James couldn't stop Azazel, if the damn demon wanted me that badly. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he, well, couldn't stop Azazel.

Ruby is supposed to come and meet us tonight; apparently, she's having more trouble tracking down Pruslas than she thought. Can we all say cutting it close, here? At least if we don't save Dean, I won't have to be on the road much longer after that. I can just... not be a part of it anymore. Maybe I'll take Sam with me, but I don't think he'll want to see me either. He and I will be reduced to Spartan-style e-mails and completely separate nightmares about what could have been.

She's supposed to be here in an hour, and I'm going to use the briefing-time to give the boys their time alone. I think Dean stayed in tonight is because he wants to spend it with his brother, not his snappy ex-girlfriend who glares at him every time he says her name.

I sighed as Dean threw the door to the bathroom open, brandishing his bare chest like some muscle-laden sword. Disgusting, and I have to get it out of here immediately. It's the ultimately worst time ever. I whistled, training my eyes carefully on the carpet as I slipped out the door, Phantom trotting quietly behind me.

I resigned to my curb as I figured I could wait out the last hour here in peace, and Ruby could show up whenever she could make time in her busy, demon kind of day. It'll be at least two hours before Dean even notices I'm gone at all,. So much for him never being able to let me out of his sight, lest Azazel gobble me up.

The thought was depressing, and I suddenly wished I brought out James' diary to read. Phantom had trotted off towards a bush that he'd taken a liking too, leaving me alone with the thoughts. I'd become pretty talented at blocking them, the wishes that Dean weren't dying. He's a job now, just like I'm a job to him.

I cleared my throat, searching the streets for anything interesting when a soft glow across the street caught my eye. A Catholic church, complete with the glowing of candles and sad little organ music floating softly through the open windows. Apparently, whoever was in there for evening mass wasn't as cold as I'd felt since we got within a hundred miles of Astaroth.

My legs tingled with a familiar anticipation, the aching need to move. I couldn't have been sitting for more than thirty seconds, and I figured it was my subconscious trying to tell me to get to the damn church and pray. I was obviously more desperate than I'll admit; Dean couldn't die. It just wasn't... it wasn't right. He was... oh God, I'm just going to go to church now.

Being a Slayer hadn't afforded me an especially orthodox religious upbringing; I spent most of the time I was thinking about God being very angry that he couldn't have just let me be normal. I believe in him; I think if I didn't, I would go crazy. Even if he does hate me, he's there.

But being a Slayer did leave me with a lot of knowledge on religion; mostly non-Christian folklores, but there was some Christianity mixed in there too. To the best of my knowledge, there should be an altar in there, with some candles and probably a few statues. Passed that, though, I'm clueless.

Turning to Phantom absentmindedly, I pulled his leash out of the car and tied him to a tree, where he contentedly collapsed, his ears perked and his tail rigid with the impending doom of a demon nearby, a presence he was scarily used to.

And with a strange feeling of fear, and yet that desperate need for comfort that suddenly religion seemed to offer, I started through the nearly-decrepit door of the church. The church had a distinctly sharp scent, reminding me of something I desperately wanted back. It almost reminded me of Dean, but it was so much more than that.

I took another deep breath of the scent before taking the four more decisive steps though some sort of welcoming hall. The church was barely on it's last legs, and the mass was completely empty. Not even a lonely, hopeful preacher, or one faithful altar boy, stood watch at the pulpit.

To my left, shoved dangerously into a corner, was a rack full of unlit candles. I guess living with this supernatural chill could make anyone give up their faith in religion; when sin was so close, and seemed so inevitable an end, what was the point of fighting?

I glanced around once more before I hurried to the candle rack. How do I do this? Matches? Yes, matches, here they are. Light a candle, say a prayer. Be articulate and understanding; sure, Dean can't live forever, but how about just until I leave? Or could he and Sam just die at the same time, so they never have to be apart? Would that be possible?

_Dear God,_ I resigned myself, feeling awkward trying to force my rushing thoughts into coherent sentences, _I have no idea if you even care about any of this, but I know you know about it, and I know you know it's wrong._ This prayer is slowly taking on the tone of a threat, 'we know you know' sort of thing. Gangster.

I sighed, trying again, _And it's your choice, definitely. I accept that you have the choice to kill people, like you accept that I have the choice to... look, you just can't let Dean be taken away. Not from Sam; Sam deserves so much better and Dean doesn't deserve an eternity in Hell. I know, no one does, but still, he's down here and fighting the evil that you're letting happen of his own volition, because he knows it's right. Please, God, for me, for Sam, for __everyone.__ The world wouldn't be the same without Dean Winchester, God. Please._

I didn't realize I'd started to cry until I heard the gentle voice next to me, "Are you alright, my child?"

I jumped, the wet feeling quickly becoming apparent on my cheeks. I wiped at them, gasping up at the preacher, "Um, yeah, yeah, my... father." Wow, I didn't realize how weird it was to call people who aren't your father 'father.' Now I get why Dean thinks it's so weird.

The priest's eyebrows furrowed, and they twinkled down at me in the light of my lone candle. Well, lone if you don't count the numerous others used for lighting around the room, which softened the look of everything. "I do not recognize you; are you new in the town?"

"Oh, no, I'm traveling with some... friends," I decided was the word, hating to lie to a priest. I'm pretty sure if God was considering saving Dean before, he's not going to anymore. I just hope God knows this is for the priest's own good, "I was just lighting a candle for one. He's... sick."

The priest nodded, "What kind of sick?"

"The deadly sick," I responded darkly, turning back to the candle. It was nearly stationary in the still air of the church, which slowly began to weigh down on me.

"Bring him to me; I'll bless him," the priest offered. He obviously doesn't want to lose his only subject. Poor guy.

"Oh, no," I blushed, flipping my bangs out of my eyes as I turned back to him, "I couldn't... he'll be angry enough that I came here. He's kind of an... atheist. And he doesn't want to be saved, anyway. He says it's his time."

The priests eyes crinkled at me, obviously trying to figure me out, but at that moment Phantom barked threateningly, and I stiffened. Could Ruby be there already, or was Astaroth informed that we were in town and decided to come and check Dean out early? Either way, I had to get over there. Now.

I stood, "Oh, go...sh." I caught myself; how bad is it to use the Lord's name in vain in a church? "I have to go," I apologized to the priest, thankful as I slipped passed his old body and through the welcoming hall. That man's gaze was... intense. I felt like he was concentrating on reading my very soul, as if he had the power to do just that. He was probably just expecting me to confess a few other sins, while I was already there.

I froze, both in movement and my musings as I saw just across the small, two-lane street. Dean stood outside the motel room, arms locked and gun poised as he shot straight forward, into Ruby's stomach. I screamed as the bullet pierced her skin, leaving her to collapse. I knew she wasn't dead, or probably even hurt, but I'm sure it was a shock.

Her demon-colored blood, which almost shone with hellfire, started to spread across the pavement quickly, more quickly than any human's would've, but demon blood is thinner, whenever their wounds are bad enough to bleed, which is rare. With a black _poof,_ Ruby was gone and Dean turned to me, my scream having drawn his attention.

"You," he accused, his gun refusing to waver as he pointed it, straight for my heart. I didn't dare to move; I may be a sucky shot, but Dean isn't. Dean is Picasso with a gun, built perfectly for his art. I wanted to smile, or laugh, because this had to be a joke. Dean had turned his gun on **me?**

With a few hurried, horrified steps, I heard the priest arrive at his doorway, outside the normal hearing range but close enough to see what was going on. Dean's eyes flashed to the priest, and then back to me. Phantom was barking madly, the gun shots setting off his 'oh my god something is going on I need to smell and track it' reaction.

I took a careful step forward, speaking mostly so that Tommy would hear me, "Dean, calm down."

"You were trying to save me; you could've gotten Sam killed," Dean accused, his gun still held firm. I bit my lip, trying to keep Sam out of this. Through the weeks, I'd developed a strange 'protect Sam from all kinds of hurt' instinct, mostly from the pain of losing Dean. And I get the feeling if Dean turned his gun on Sam, the world would be swallowed by a black hole.

"De-"

But Dean was gone, returning a few seconds later with my unpacked bag of clothing and my duffel bag of things Phantom needed for an overnight stay in the other. Without looking at me, Dean threw the bags into the street, only just across the parking lot. I wanted to scream and shout and curse at him, to make him understand, but there was too much at stake. So instead, I tried to be calm about it, "Dean, ple-"

"No, Carden, you please. Please, just respect the fact that you can't stop this." We both seemed to understand the necessity of the priest not hearing us.

"Do you want to die," I questioned quietly at his back, which was stuck in mid-step as he heard my reply. I'm sure I've asked him this a thousand times, but now, with the deadline all of a day away, it seems so much more... real. Horrifying. It feels like my whole body is teetering, waiting for his answer to see whether or not I should continue on or just fall off the cliff into some strange abyss.

"Do you," he spat, his voice wavering just the slightest bit as he turned to look at me, "You could die fighting this guy; how could I live knowing you died trying to save my life? How could I live knowing **Sammy** died to save my life?" I could've sworn, as he took one step closer to me, that his eyes had a light frosting of water spread over them.

"Bu-"

He turned again, obviously uninterested with my argument. He thought he knew everything, and again I was overcome with the urge to scream at him. But I couldn't, at risk of revealing Sam's part in the plot or, even worse, our world to the preacher. I was forced to stand there and watch as Dean slammed the door shut, obviously assuming I could get into the Impala all by myself to get to the rest of my stuff. I'm a big kid now.

With a careful breath, I found myself strangely incapable of movement. My legs didn't respond to any command, and even when the priest stepped forward to rub my arm I didn't find any comfort. Dean hated me; he hated me because he thought I was going to get myself killed, or Sam killed. He didn't understand that I didn't want Sam dead, I just want him alive. Is that so hard to get?

* * *

I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there  
I don't know if you would listen to a Slayer's prayer  
Yes, I know, I'm just an outcast, I shouldn't speak to you  
Still I see your face and wonder were you once an outcast too?

God help the outcasts, hungry from birth  
Show them the mercy they don't find on Earth  
God help my people, we look to you still  
**God help the outcasts or nobody will**

...

I ask for nothing, I can get by  
But I know so many less lucky than I  
God help my people, the poor and down trod  
_I thought we all were the children of God  
_God help the outcasts, the children of God


	33. Planning Our Downfall

I gulped as I sat on the pew, the preacher hovering quietly next to me and telling me that it would be alright because I could stay with him. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I didn't want to stay with him, I wanted to stay with Dean and Sam. Dean barely had twenty-four hours left; I should be with him.

The sound of a banging door, the church's door opening, was a welcome change, and I glanced towards it. Maybe Dean changed his mind; maybe Sam talked him out of kicking me out. Maybe it's...

Some old friend of the preacher's, complete with scruff coating nose to his throat and greasy, trucker clothes. His eyes met with mine, and I was shocked to hear my name, "Carrie?" I stood as a natural reaction, to fight if it was dangerous and to stay if it wasn't; I didn't say anything, though. I waited for him to make the next move. "Oh, Carrie, it's your Uncle Bobby, do you remember me?"

My mind sifted through names until I came to Bobby. Bobby – Sam and Dean's mentor, second to their father. He's good; he's here to help me. Still, I couldn't force a feeling of fake-recognition to the surface, and instead stuttered and stumbled over the first syllable, "U... Uh.."

I got as far as, "Unc," when Bobby made his way to my side, hugging me, "Oh, thank the Lord; Sam hoped you hadn't gotten too far. I'm sorry about her, she gets like this when she's upset," Bobby explained to the preacher, lying easily. I sighed, relieved at not having to make up a lie. Now I just have to stand here and be dumb until Bobby takes me away.

"I'd better get her to my motel room, Carrie; I knew you shouldn't stay with your cousins. They're so grouchy when they don't get enough sleep," Bobby muttered, his slightly-wrinkled hand forcing me forward through the small of my back. I let him push me, nearly half-hearted. The weighted-air of the church was starting to comfort me, almost like I wasn't alone. Like the rest of the world was as heavy as I felt.

"Move along, sweet pea, your cousin Ruby wants to have a talk with you," Bobby offered, and suddenly it was all I could do not to run towards the closest car I could find and rip the demon's eyes out. How could she get caught? How could she wait 'til the last minute like this? Oh God, I knew demons were a bunch of trouble-making good-for-nothings.

I had to keep my character in mind, a virtual impossibility, as I let Bobby continue to push me into the welcoming hall. At the welcoming hall, though, I figured I had waited long enough. Twelve seconds is much too long when I want that demon dead.

Phantom barked at my reappearance, but I ignored him as I made a beeline for the lone pick-up truck parallel-parked along the road. Ruby sat slumped in the front seat, muttering to herself. I don't care what she's saying, or I didn't until I realized that she'd also locked the door. Than all I wanted was the hear her voice, so I could be sure she could hear mine. I wanted to hear me describe the ways in which I'm going to kill her.

Phantom pulled hopefully at his leash, no doubt recognizing the scent of Ruby and wanting to attack, as was his nature. "Carrie, get your dog and get in the back," Bobby ordered gruffly, passing by me easily. Alright, so I may have already decided I don't like this guy. But he apparently isn't too thrilled about my being here, either. No doubt Sam called in a favor to get me a place to stay tonight.

I huffed, but obeyed his command when I realized he already had the rest of my stuff in the back already. Alright, so the guy is apparently strong enough to carry all my bags; he's a hunter, he has to be. I stomped towards Phantom, muttering commands furiously at him as he continued to bark, unnerved by my anger.

Before Dean could run out and see me driving away in Bobby's truck, I ran with Phantom and leaped easily into the truck's bed, landing just as the engine boomed to life. Obviously sensing that time was a factor, Bobby took off without bothering to give me time to shut the little lip to help keep us in the truck.

Phantom's feet wobbled as he fell, curling up in defeat at the moving truck. There are some things even magical dogs can't do.

* * *

"No," I shouted at the demon, "Absolutely not!" I made up with Ruby when she explained that she'd needed to talk to Sam about the plan she'd just revealed to me, but the friendship was short-lived. She's off her rocker.

"We don't have a choice, Princess," Ruby hissed at me, her eyes narrowing, "We don't have any more time left to think of something else."

"No, _you_ don't have time to think of anything else, demon. Sam and I will think of something without your help. Like you ever wanted to save Dean in the first place." My eyes narrowed in response to hers, thought I was fighting the urge to curl my lip into a sneer.

"Don't you eve-"

"Girls," Bobby stepped between us as Ruby took an aggressive step towards me, obviously meaning to fight. Ruby stopped, probably more out of fear of holy water than because she didn't want to hurt Bobby. I'm having real trouble deciding if Ruby is actually on our side, especially in light of her latest plan, which is pure, unadulterated craziness, or she just thinks we're stupid enough to fall for her guise.

Ruby turned, kicking the toe of her boot into the dirt, "I knew I shouldn't tell you until Sam gets here."

"Sam is going to agree with me," I protested, "We mine as well stop arguing and start brainstorming other ideas!"

"Oh, you got something in that little, delicate head of yours," Ruby questioned, turning on me.

"We could use the Colt," I pointed out.

"Are you that thick?! They used the Colt on Azazel, and look how far that got us – we need an actual way to kill him, and no one else knows about it."

"N-"

"What'd I miss," Sam questioned, strolling through the door with a confidence that I thought was not befitting to him, seeing as how he's about to lose his brother and all.

"All I can say is that I didn't realize how easy Ruby really took it on Dean," Bobby sighed, stepping away from the two of us and motioning vaguely in Ruby's direction, "Ruby's got a plan."

"Great, let's-"

"Listen to the plan, Sam," I cut in, knowing Sam would want to get it in motion ASAP.

Ruby sighed, glaring at me for a second before turning to Sam, "I wasn't able to find out where Pruslas lives; I think we should summon him here and use Carrie as bait to lure him into a Devil's Trap. That way he can tell us everything we need to know in exchange for his freedom."

"You think he'll go for that," Sam questioned, obviously not seeing all the problems with this plan, as I had.

"He works for the demon in charge of making deals; I think he'll be willing to bargain with us," Ruby offered, sounding sarcastic.

"No, no," I protested, already able to tell that I'd apparently been dead wrong about Sam agreeing with me; I forgot to factor in how desperate he is to save his brother. "Sam, don't you get it? It's a **trick;** we're bringing a powerful demon straight to us – a demon who wants Dean's soul on a platter, no less!"

"Princess, it's the only chance we got," Ruby cut in, and I felt myself grow so frustrated I grabbed a hold of Brady from my pocket and threw him straight into the wall, the blunt, handle end of the knife bouncing harmlessly to the ground.

It was just all so... wrong. This is Dean's life we're saving ,and suddenly it's like everything he was scared of it coming true. The demons will know Sam is in on it, and they could kill him, or everything could go wrong and all of us would be killed. This is exactly what Dean didn't want, and it's exactly what we're doing.

"Carden, we just don't have time anymore," Bobby pushed, for the first time offering his opinion on the subject, "I'm sure there's a better way; we just don't have the time to find it."

"Well then we an make the time; we can't call an old, powerful demon to us! It's like putting a bell on the mice instead of on the cat! They should be chasing us; we shouldn't be leading them here!"

Bobby's motel room was slowly starting to feel like it was constricting my airway, leaving me gasping for air and in the midst of a panic attack. We were **not** going to bring the demon to us. No way in Hell's red flames, or God's green earth, or whatever expression you choose. Just... no way. I'd rather spend the last twenty-four hours praying and hoping that that will work. No one has ever died from praying.

"We have the element of surprise," Sam encouraged, though his eyes were hard; no one was giving up on this, "We have the time to plan and we'll have the upper hand the entire time."

"You don't know that, Sam; what if she's a traitor? What if all she wants is to get Dean killed so you'll get angry and go on a killing spree! Maybe she wants to enslave us all to her sick, demon-desires; m-"

"Oh, grow up; if anyone here has conflicting interests, it's you, what with your upbringing. I thought you condemned people like Dean to Hell, anyway; he sold his soul, he knew the price." I turned to glare at her, not even surprised at her knowledge of Slayer policy, which was plain and openly talked about in our culture.

It's true; we, as a general rule, did not save people who made a deal with a demon, knowing they would go to Hell. We figure that if you went into that deal knowing everything, which we require the demon to tell you, than you dug your own grave and we can't help you any further.

But Dean was... different. He didn't know what would happen, not really. He couldn't have ever imagined going to Hell and dieing and burning and writhing in pain. No one can imagine it, which is partly the reason as to why it's Hell. The pain is so bad, we can't even imagine it. Or so I'd assume.

"I can't believe you guys are really considering this," I muttered, falling into a chair next to Bobby and thrusting my head into my hands. They were crazy, all of them.

"Well, we are," Ruby stepped forward tenaciously, her black eyes hard as she prepared for what would probably be a battle, "And you can either help us, or you can not. Make your choice."

Every bone in my body said to get out of here while the getting was good; I could take Phantom and walk around for two nights and a day, until I can find the bus stop that will eventually get me to Philly. But at the same time, I couldn't shake the image of a dead Sam from my mind; Dean would never forgive me. Dean probably wouldn't live to forgive me.

I gulped deeply, but I nodded my head, knowing that in the end my natural urge to protect would trump all, "Alright, alright, I'm in. But we're going to go about this my way, demon," I glanced up at Ruby, my eyes narrrowing again, the arguement coming full circle.

Ruby sighed, glaring back at me but not objecting. Maybe there's hope for her after all.


	34. One More

Hehe, I made a banner for this one. Check out my homepage - the link will be up later tonight.

**Fun fact:** There are actually three parts to this series, all of them named after Breaking Benjamin songs (Dance with the Devil; Here We Are; Until the End.) The entire series is also called Until the End.

* * *

I gulped as I sat on the bed, watching with wide eyes as Sam and Ruby crawled around on their hands and knees, drawing the intricate design with careful measurements. They're using everything short of a protractor and ruler, and may I take this moment to point out that the motel staff will officially hate us.

Phantom lay next to me on the bed, his face cushioned comfortably between his paws, and I decided to use him as a pillow for lack of anything better. Bobby was in the bathroom, making an ass load of holy water to use if need be, but I'm trying to ignore him, and that feeling that things always go wrong when there's a bathtub full of 'holy' water. Really, things just tend to go wrong in my life.

God, I'm emo. Still, though, I think I'd beat most of those boys with black eyeliner in a 'why my life sucks' contest. By a _lot._

"We almost ready out there," Bobby called impatiently, and Sam nodded. The sight of Sam, his wavy brown hair bobbing innocently in time with his jerky movements, somehow brought tears to my eyes. It brought back memories of the Sam I started this trip with – he was young, and angry, and yet fun.

I gulped down a breath before standing calmly, "I need to get some air; I'll be outside." Phantom didn't budge from the bed as he watched me rush outside, my hand carefully placed over my mouth. Something just seemed so wrong about this – about willfully calling a demon to us, about risking Sam and Bobby's life. I didn't even know Bobby, but no one deserves to go the way that we might tonight.

_It's for Dean – it's the only way,_ I tried to remind myself as I fell to the edge of the curb, the grayish-pink sky of twilight stretching for miles in front of me. _We all know what we're doing – we'll be alright. And we'll save Dean, and then I can be on my way and everything can be alright again._

Somehow, I found this thought even more depressing. I rolled my eyes at myself, the tears blurring the dark horizon and mixing it with the grayness of the sky as the door behind me opened. Great, a heart-to-heart, or an awkward moment of Bobby stuttering. One of the two.

Sam sat down next to me without a word, but a month of spending time with him almost exclusively had taught me the art of Sam's individual body language. His long legs bunched up to his chest, almost a complete mimic of mine, and his hands were knotted and resting on his knees. Nervousness, and yet resigned. A look at Sam's face gave that inevitable impression of every Hunter and Slayer; that we've seen too much in too little time, and our brain is still processing what we learned about last Friday, trying to make sense out of everything we thought was a lie.

"You nervous," Sam finally questioned, and I nearly started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question; was I nervous? Was I blond? Was I scared? Did I want to cry? Yes, yes, yes, and **yes.** But was I going to let any of that show? Well, I can't help being blond, but the rest of that is a firm no.

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, "Not really. I figure if he targets anyone first it's Ruby, and by the time he's got her we're either out of the county or we're in the middle of sending him back to Hell. Dean or no Dean, I'm not letting him kill you too, Sam. You didn't do any of this; he did."

There was a prolonged silence, filled only by the faint sounds of Ruby and Bobby conferring and the occasional hiss of the spray-paint can. "I love him, you know," Sam finally spit out, his elbows falling until his arms were almost a straight line from his mouth to the pavement, "He's my brother. He did this to save me. I've got to do this for him. Even if he doesn't want me to. He's more important than anything else to me."

I nodded, looking away and wishing I had such a sappy motive; then I could at least later blame the stupidity of my heart, and not some flaw in my logic, when we were all dead and this motel was blown to rubble. I closed my eyes, trying to block the mental picture of the four of us, our bodies mangled in the debris. I could feel the beginning of tears once again trying to force their way out of my ducts, but I pushed them back down and looked at Sam instead.

Sam was unabashed – what else did I expect from him? Tears ran down his face openly, and I automatically leaned over to hug him. It was almost necessary, but the memories it brought back for me were painful. What a different situation, indeed, when Dean cradled me on the bathroom floor as I sobbed into his chest, and then the night he told me about the deal. I wished a little that he was here with me, now, to tell me that it was going to be alright and to tell Sam that he was doing the right thing, even if none of us knew whether or not it was.

The door opened behind us, and my throat went dry as I turned to see Bobby ruining the closest thing Sam and I had ever come to actually comforting each other, the closest thing either of us had come to comfort in the last month, probably longer for Sam.

"We're ready for you in here whenever you are," Bobby offered, looking between me and Sam in a way that screamed CONFUSED!

Sam looked at me, wiping at his eyes hastily, "You alright to come back in?"

I shook my head, turning back towards the entrancing twilight, "No-" I heard the door squeak as Phantom shoved his way passed Bobby, letting his head fall quietly into my lap. "-I just need to think a few things out. Go over the ritual – make sure you've got it down pat. We don't have time for screw-ups."

"I still can't believe we've resorted to this," Bobby muttered as Sam ignored him, the door closing quietly behind the two of them.

To be honest, I couldn't believe it either – three months ago my biggest worry was whether or not Landon and I would find a way to get back together eventually. Now I'm involved in a border-line epic struggle, ignoring what few morals the school insisted upon. And for what? Dean.

His name left a light tingling sensation in the tips of my fingers, like they missed him or something. I remembered vividly the last time I'd ran my fingers along his neck, through his hair. A month ago, or maybe a little less. Hell, maybe more - time stopped having meaning when I woke up once to realize I'd been reading for three days without a nap, until that moment when I woke up and realized I'd slept for an entire twenty-six hours. Once that happened, the only time that mattered was the countdown; twenty hours to go.

I gulped passed that block in my throat again, and my vision blurred more intensely. I sniffed – twenty hours. All this had come down to twenty hours and most-likely everyone's untimely death. I know, I'm a real cheery person, but can we all just look at the facts objectively? A powerful demon who doesn't want to be found plus us plus a deal with a tiny footnote that if Dean tries to get out of it, Sam dies. And we're expecting to all be alive at the end of this?

At that moment, Ruby chose to lean out and grimace at me, "Hey, Princess, we're kind of on a schedule here. We need you for this whole shebang."

_I nodded and stood to go in, even if all I wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and fall asleep. __"No; if you sleep you'll get depressed. You need to bounce back from this, Carden."_ His words hit me painfully, and as Ruby let the doors close two small tears escaped rebelliously, taunting me the whole way down my cheeks and sticking desperately to the tip of my chin.

I looked down at my hand, where James' ring was loosely shoved onto my thumb. I couldn't take it off – it was like my final link to my old life, the one where all I did was take orders from the school and count the days to my twenty-fifth birthday. Back when Hunters were mindless idiots who thought they could take care of my destiny, not actual people who had lives and needed saving just like I did every now and then. And James was alive, and Landon loved me. It was all easier then; then, I could deal with things.

And to think – I could've been in Italy this entire time, getting tan and, well... you know, I'm still not quite sure what I was supposed to do in Italy with Landon; I just knew we were going and I didn't care much passed that.

A light breeze from the area of the forest, and the jingle of Phantom's tags as he finally stood, brought me back to the present time, place, and most painful of all the present situation. Demon that wants Dean's soul. Life-threatening evil, including one taking the form of my ex-boyfriend.

The breeze shifted slightly, and for one horrifying second I thought I could smell Dean. His cologne, mixed with the almost tangible filth that he insisted on living in. It wasn't necessarily pleasant, but it was... comforting. It wrapped around me, and yet I was somehow sure that he wasn't there. He was still asleep, probably tossing and turning and completely unaware that Sam wasn't there. Sam might never be there again.

Licking his lips and yawning, Phantom shoved his head into my left hand, and I almost jumped at the sudden reminder of his presence. He then sat and looked up at me with warily hopeful eyes. That was the look I'd been hoping to see in Dean all along, the look I woke up every morning and hoped to find, even if it was buried under layers of sarcasm and anger.

I sighed, and I remembered that it was for Dean's eyes, for Dean in general that I was doing this. If it was most anyone else, I would've hit the road the minute he told me. There was no need for me to risk me life for some scumbag who thinks that just because they suddenly realized that death is horrifying, I can save them. I can't. I can't save them.

But maybe I can save Dean. Maybe the Trickster was right – maybe I can do this. And maybe if I do this, Dean will, well, he'll learn to trust, to have hope. Sam has hope; Bobby has hope; hell, even little old me has hope; we've all got faith. This job will kill you if you don't have faith.

Almost like Phantom could read my thoughts, and he approved of them, my puppy started to slowly wag his tail, his eyes warming. Apparently, faith and hope are a chain-reaction kind of thing. But what else did I expect from the dog who is probably smarter than three quarters of the population? Nothing less than the perceptiveness that made him a great pet and fighting companion.

Again, the breeze blew around me, wafting up my nose and weighing me down to the ground. I turned and looked, just to reaffirm that he wasn't really there, watching us. The parking lot was empty, save for a few leaves blowing across the parking lot, dead and stiff and their sounds light in the breeze that comforted me.

_It's all for you, Dean,_ I thought to myself, hoping that the somehow knew that everything we'd done, we'd done for him.

And with that I turned, ready to face down the door. As if I needed any more memories, it was like the night after my first kiss with Dean, when I had to reward each step with a breath. I utilized the tactic, taking that final step towards the door with one long, overexagerated breath.

It feels like I have lost this fight

They think that I am staying down

But I am not giving up tonight

Tonight the wall is coming down

I am stronger than my fears

This is the mountain that I climb

Got one hundred steps to go

Tonight I'll make it ninety-nine

One more, go one more, yeah yeah

Don't stop that, go one more, yeah yeah

One more, go one more, go one more, go one more yeah yeah

One more, go one more, yeah yeah

Don't stop that, go one more, yeah yeah

One more, go one more, go one more, go one more yeah yeah

I have everything to lose

I'm not getting up to fight

I might get used to giving up

So I am showing up tonight

I am my own enemy

The battle fought within my mind

If I can overcome step one

I can face the ninety-nine

One more, go one more, yeah yeah

Don't stop that, go one more, yeah yeah

One more, go one more, go one more, go one more yeah yeah

One more, go one more, yeah yeah

Don't stop that, go one more, yeah yeah

One more, go one more, go one more, go one more yeah yeah

One more, go one more, yeah yeah

Don't stop that, go one more, yeah yeah

One more, go one more, go one more, go one more yeah yeah


	35. Clear

You guys don't even want to know about the passed few weeks I've been having. It's all soap-opera dramatic in addition to a lot of physical pain. Sorry this is so late.

* * *

A distint feeling of nausea set in as I looked around the room, on which Bobby had drawn multiple devil's traps. There were three alone on the floor, hidden underneat various parts of the rug, and on a black mat between the two queen-sized beds was the only symbol that mattered in the immeidate moment – the mark of Astaroth, used to summon Pruslas, or any other lowlife demon who worked for Astaroth.

Ruby, Sam, and Bobby all stood on the far sides of the black mat, and I joined them by taking a few steps forward and kneeling to grab Phantom's collar, "Are you guys going to need me for this?" The three of them looked at each other quickly, as if they had been expecting but not hoping for this question. We'd yet to iron out the details.

"Uh, well, yeah, we actually are." Sam finally spoke up. Great, any way I can help. Honestly, I always trust the work I do more than I trust anyone else's. "We need you to pretend to... want Pruslas."

My eyebrow arched as my mind flipped around what he said a few times, "Want Pruslas... for wh-" My voice broke off, and my reaction to the plan was immediate, "No, no."

"You're the only one, Princess. He'll know I'm a demon, Sam's the Benedict Arnold of the demon world, and Bobby wouldn't have a reason to call him." Ruby glared at me, "That leaves you."

Ruby's hip jutted out, her right hand placed precariously on it, and I mimicked her position unconciously, "Bobby can lie just as well as I can – if anything, he's more likely to recognize me for a Slayer."

"A Slayer with an urge to rebel," Sam said, as if he were reminding me of the perscribed role.

I rolled my eyes, "Either you've been hanging out with Dean and Dean's been watching too much porn, or you've just been watching too much porn, Sam." Sam would've blushed if the situation hadn't been so dire, and I glared at them, "I'm more recognizable than Bobby – demons can't sense a hunter's presence, but my Slayer mojo radiates off me like... fresh baked cookies."

Bad analogy, but the only other thing that came to mind were rotten eggs and I am _not_ a rotten egg.

"This room reeks of you – if you aren't in here, he'll know something is up before we've even gotten started." Ruby arched an eyebrow, "Trust me, you're very potent."

Oh, if I could kill her.

I sighed, turning physically away from the group as I wandered through the options; Bobby or me. Bobby's getting up there and doesn't have the reflexes he used to. I'm a Slayer. God, responsibility sucks.

I turned to them quickly, my lips pursed and almost yanking Phantom of the ground in the movement, "Alright, I'll do it. How does the ceremony work?"

At once, Sam and Bobby stepped back to start to set things up while Ruby stepped forward to lecture me. "Now, Princess, the good thing about this is that when demons think they're going to get something they want, they'll come to any language. You can speak in English."

I sneered at her, pleased with the idea that I wouldn't ever have to see her again after this, "I know Latin, dumbass."

"You're going to want to do all this in the right order, so he knows you're ready for business; he will know it's you before you're finished calling him, and even if you're... more talented at all things supernatural does not mean that he can't get off the hook if you make the tiniest mistake. Most of all, just be appealing; he if doesn't want to come, he's powerful enough to cause some... damage if you keep trying."

On that note, Ruby flipped a knife out of her back pocket, handing it to me blade down, "And if he comes and things start to go South, stick him."

"Do you want the colt instead, Carrie," Sam questioned from the opposite side of the room, where he was digging through some drawers and pulled out a bag of what looked like marijuana, but was probably some nameless herb that only grows on the southside of a highway in Africa it's so obscure.

"No, no," I paused, "I'd rather just use Brady."

"Your pocket knife can't kill a demon, Carrie – take Ruby's knife." Bobby ordered absent-mindedly. Ruby still stood there, barely having moved, her arms outstretched.

"Just keep in mind that you want to rebel; really, that's all we are – a bunch of rebels," Ruby offered, for the first time sounding genuine as I reached out and took her knife, sliding it up the sleeve of my jacket carefully, "All you need to do is sit South of the map and just keep repeating 'Pruslas, I entreat thee to me.'"

I raised a careful eyebrow, "Pruslas, I entreat thee to me?"

Ruby glared, "Just because he's powerful doesn't mean his way of being summoned is any more special." She continued, obviously annoyed at my interuption, "Just concentrate very hard on him appearing, and be as genuine as you can. Don't think anything about Dean or the deal – when you open up to him he can read your mind."

"Good luck, kid," Bobby muttered as he slid passed me, towards the bathroom.

Sam followed him as Ruby pushed roughly passed me, "Dont mess this up, Princess." Sam sighed as he leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, Bobby's butt visible as he leaned over to fill up buckets of holy water in preparation.

Ruby slammed the door to the outside behind her, and I sighed, deflated. _South,_ I mentally prepared myself as I looked at the ground, "Sam, which way is South?"

"Sit on what's usually my bed," Sam offered, still leaning against the doorframe. I nodded, sitting and whispering the words to myself in case I forgot them. Sam's eyes crinkled at the corner, and he added as an afterthought, "Thanks for doing this, Carrie. I know you're... you're dealing with a lot for Dean."

With a shock, I raised my eyes to Sam's, left essentially speechless. I finally sputtered it out, "This is what we're meant to do, right? Give up our lives to ungrateful slobs who would put us in jail as soon as look at us because of all the things we've done to people who are actuallly people? It's just... our curse."

I shrugged, and Sam nodded like he actually got what I was saying, but I couldn't help but fight the feeling he did. He could get out, he _had_ gotten out. Dean would understand, if he was here – he was obsessed with the job 'til his dying day; he couldn't get out.

I swallowed as Sam turned, closing the door behind him as Phantom jingled in, inherently understanding he shouldn't be in the room. I sat cross-legged on the edge of what-would-be-Sam's bed and tried to forget the fact that the bed I was looking at would usually contain a few beer bottles and Dean. It feels like forever since I've seen Dean.

_I'm a rebel,_ I forced myself to think, my eyes clasped in concentration. It was like meditating, only more frustrating, and after a few minutes I decided that I either had it or I was going to lose my concentration if I kept it up much longer. And so I started to chant, feeling like a total idiot.

I chanted the phrase exactly three and a half times before the walls started to shake rebelliously. I shouted louder over the clattering of pictures against the walls and the TV rumbling on the wardrobe. And with a black of smoke that made me cough, Pruslas arrived.

I nearly hacked up a lung as I fell onto my side, hugging myself and trying to expel the smoke from my body. Over my death-via-asphixiation, I heard an amuesd laugh, "Well, Miss Adair, never thought you'd be knocking on my door."

The accent was distinctly Cockney and of medium tone. It would've been pleasant to listen to, if I had the courage to open my eyes. I didn't know what to expect – did he have to have a human host when he was so powerful? Did he even need to bother with a body, or would I be trying to seduce a big, black, fallus-shaped cloud?

When the coughing stopped and I could actually open my eyes, I found a very normal looking human body – Pruslas wore a leather motorcycle jacket left open, revealing a white wife beater clinging to his toned body. The 'I-maybe-care' look was completed with loose, low-riding jeans, held up by a studded belt, and motorcycle boots. His hair was painfully blonde and his eyes were narrow and purely red as he took in the sight of me.

He smirked, his lip twitching into the position and was never completely still once he'd manage to force it up there. Lord knows why he can't control his own lips, but he spoke again, "What would a Slayer like you want with a boy like me?"

Oh, right, I'm supposed to want him to do me. For rebellion's sake. God, I'm bad at acting. This is the worst idea ever. "Oh," I responded, feigning coyness in hopes of actually pulling this off, "I was just... thinking."

Pruslas continued to be skeptical, which I took as a sign that I was doing something wrong, "What were you thinking about?"

I pouted; I once caught one of my brothers watching the beginnings of porn, and the girl pouted. Maybe Pruslas can take a hint. I wonder which Devil's Trap I can trick him into... wait, hold on, where are the devil's traps? Oh shit... right; in front of the TV; in front of the bathroom; in front of Sam's bed. Alright, I can do this. Just breathe and don't punch him.

Pruslas' eyebrow raised questioningly at my jutted-out lip, and I quickly pulled it back into a smirk, "About... life." Vague – is that good or bad?

"What do you want from me Slayer?" Oh shit, he's catching on. I'd better get on this situation.

The door handle to the bathroom jiggled, and I attempted to cover the noise with a whine before standing and pushing my hands into Pruslas' firm chest. He took a step back, and I smiled at the realization that he wasn't actually completely wise to me... yet. "I was thinking about.. **my** life," I offered, confident at my discovery. Three more steps.

"Still don't see how this applies at all to me, sweet pea," Pruslas smirked down at me as I took another step forward, his accent making him sound almost like Landon. No, wait, I'm not going to go there...

"My life is just so horribly... boring, lately," I pouted again. I pushed at his chest, but this time he was prepared for it. He smirked as he caught my hands against his chest, obviously more than fooled, if not a little too excited at this prospect.

I pulled my hands from his grasp and tried to figure out another way to get him to take even just one more step back; where exactly was the Devil's Trap? Pruslas let out a nearly inaudible hiss, "Sweet, I'm not quite sure if you understand what you're getting yourself into."

I froze for a second at all the implicit meanings, how much that sentence **really** meant. There wasn't any turning back – I was about to trap a very lustful demon via seduction and use his freedom as ransom for information to go kill a demon that very much wanted both Sam and Dean dead, and very well could kill either of them at his will. But the way Pruslas says it – it's almost like he thinks I've got a chance. Like I could say no to any of this. I can't though.

And so I took a slight running leap and landed just next to the TV on the waist-high bureau, smirking and beckoning him with my right index finger. Pruslas, for that one second he stepped forward, was overjoyed. But at that moment his foot crossed the threshold, his face changed and he visibly shivered, motion forcing him to take the next two steps forward.

His being caught taken care of, I pulled the knife out of my back pocket and held it easily as I pressed the length of the blade against his neck. Pruslas grinned down at me, his smirk sick and his gaze leering as he froze against the cold feeling of steel, "I was wondering why you had a knife; I just thought you were kinky."

I grimaced as Sam and Bobby barged in, Ruby carefully kicking the door open and stepping around the devil's trap in front of Sam's bed to sit down. Pruslas turned and they made eye contact, Pruslas' smirk falling, "Who are you all?" Pruslas' neck snapped towards Bobby and Sam, and Pruslas grinned, "Oh... I get it. Sam Winchester – if you just aren't the talk of the town."

Sam grimaced, his fist clenched around the colt. Pruslas turned, still smiling, "And that must make you Ruby; displeasure to make your acquaintance."

"I wouldn't be moving your neck so much if I were you – you look all too pretty alive with the knife of Micheal pressed against your neck." Pruslas' eyes dimmed before fading to a natural color – a goldish brown that darkned towards his pupils.

"Tell us about your boss and we'll let you go free," I interupted – I'm not in the mood to see a demon verbal-smack-down. I pushed the knife just the slightest bit into his neck, "And trust me – I can send you back to Hell before you get out of that body."

Pruslas raised an eyebrow at me, his hands flying up in hopefully-not-fake submission as he simultaneously took a step back, "Who would dream of leaving this body?" He winked at me, his smirk almost permanently engraved on his hollow cheeks, "What do you want to know?"

"How do we get Dean out of his deal," Sam questioned immediately. Pruslas laughed openly as he sat in the middle of the circle. I prefered my perch above him – I have a good view of everything and anything he might try to do.

"That's easy – you kill him. Break the circle?"

"Not so fast, loverdemon," Ruby spat back, "How do we kill him?"

Pruslas rolled his eyes, "Can't be done."

"Anything can be killed," I interjected; Bobby sighed, but nodded in agreement half-heartedly.

Pruslas smirked as he looked back at me over his shoulder, "Shows how much you all know – nothing ever dies, least of all demons."

"What do you mean nothing ever dies," Bobby questioned roughly, his eyes narrowing in obviously fake belief. "Everything dies, 'cept you damn immortal pieces of-"

Pruslas cut him off with a few short 'tsks' and rolled his eyes at us all, "Souls can be forced out of their bodies, and most then desend or assend, but there is no actually killing them; it's impossible. Now did you all get that, kiddies, or are should I go over that again, slower?"

Everyone fell into a deathly silence, looking between each other helplessly. That's that; Dean can't be saved – he's going to Hell. Everything has been in vain; the research, the late nights, the praying... nothing worked. As if sensing that it was alright now, Phantom started to howl and bay at Pruslas, like we didn't know he was a demon. But we all knew; suddenly, everything was very clear.


	36. Our Time is Running Out

I gulped as Sam spoke up, his jaw set stubbornly, "So you're saying there's no way to get Dean out of his deal?"

"Oh, there are plenty of ways," Pruslas informed us, "But I seriously doubt you could pull any of them off."

"Like," I questioned, annoyed that Pruslas hadn't mentioned any of these possibilities sooner. Damn demons – they don't know what they're doing, I swear. Ruby included, if you must know.

"Kill the Hell Hounds as they come for him," Pruslas suggested.

"And how do you do that," Bobby questioned.

"By hitting them with anything dipped in Lillith's blod," Pruslas countered, raising an eyebrow at Ruby, "Didn't you know that?"

"We aren't finding Lillith," Ruby growled, her eyes flashing black at Sam. Sam's brow fell as his eyes simultaneously widened as we all realized Ruby had known that was an option all along, and yet didn't tell us. Her eyes turned to Pruslas, her lips pursed in a way that should have been threatening, "What else?"

"You could make a deal with me," Pruslas suggested, his eyes glowing red and almost bulging out his head at the thought, "Soul for a soul; another Winchester should suffice."

"No," I cut in, glaring at Sam as his eyes flashed again. He turned to me, and I almost fell off the bureau when I saw that he was angry. "Sam, no; we're not killing you to save _Dean._ He wouldn't want it; he'd have you back out of hell in a heartbeat and he'd probably have to give up something much more important than just _his_ soul. It's out of the question."

"You could… oh," Pruslas' eyes glowed again as he turned over the next option in his mind, "Now, wouldn't that be interesting."

"What," Bobby questioned, his hand automatically gripping around his gun. In response, I dug my nails into the handle of Ruby's knife, the name of which I forgot. Pruslas chuckled at our responses, turning for an instant to face me before turning away again.

"No need for those toys; I'm being a good doggy." I sucked in a breath, my mind turning what he'd said into a threat against Phantom. Focusing very hard on the back of his head, I tried to remember that what he said was important to, and that I should be listening, "You could strip Astaroth of all his power."

"What would that do – there'd still be a deal," I rolled my eyes. I really, honestly, hate demons to the very core of my being. I don't think they help anything – I think if they did, they would explode from such an overload to their system.

"Yes, but if Astaroth doesn't have the power to take a soul, then he… well, think for a minute, kiddies."

"What do you mean doesn't have the power to take a soul," Bobby grumbled at him, still standing with his hand on his gun.

"I mean that as demons get older, they get stronger; once they're strong enough, then they can start making deals and taking souls. But, if they're power is mysteriously taken away-"

"And let me guess – there is no way to take away his power." Ruby's lips were still pursed as she responded to my sarcastic not-really-question.

"No, there is." Ruby's eyes turned from Pruslas to me, "Every demon can have its power stripped – in case a demon gets too power hungry and any other demon strong enough thinks it needs to be stopped. But stripping their power is nearly impossible unless you have their-" Ruby's neck craned unnaturally as she turned towards Pruslas, "Their weapon."

"Their weapon," Sam echoed, "What the-"

Pruslas held Ruby's gaze easily, "It's a sword; most demons don't know where theirs is, but it stays in whatever dimension theirs is in."

"So it's here?"

"Somewhere on this great big ball of blue, yeah," Pruslas nodded, the back of his head bobbing slowly, "It's got their blood in it. You stab them with the sword, the blood absorbs their power, demon is automatically back to the basics, if you will."

"And how do we find his sword then," Sam said, wrapping his mind around the idea all too quickly. I was still trying to… absorb the information. Basic things, even – demons have rules, safeguards, almost a system of laws and justice. What next – charitable organizations for the poor, needy demons?

"You don't; they're untraceable. No demon knows where their sword is, save one." Pruslas laughed at that moment, "This is just too perfect!" Everyone looked at each other oddly, including me and Ruby. Ew, now I need to wash. "The only demon in the entire fucking universe who knows where their sword is is Astaroth!"

My muscles tensed at the news, "Where is it?"

But Prulas couldn't hear me over his laughing, "He just stumbled upon it while he was terrorizing a town for fun; found some barrier he couldn't cross, made me figure it out!" Pruslas continued to dissolve into hysterics, but he somehow heard Ruby's explanation over it.

"Demons can't enter the building where their weapon is kept, so they can't take possession of it. The only way their weapon can be taken from wherever it is with the intent to stab them."

"So of course it's still there, rotting away in the basement!" Pruslas continued to laugh loudly, and I yelled to be heard over him.

"Where is the damn sword?!"

"I'll never tell," Pruslas' eyes grew sickeningly red again, his smirk an attempt to confine the giggles that kept escaping, making me certain he was crazy as he turned to look up at me, "Had to make a promise not to tell. And no one breaks Astaroth's promise, they can't!"

"Let him go," Bobby ordered, and Ruby stepped forward and scratched the circle obediently. Immediately, Pruslas poofed away, still laughing. Bobby sighed, "I think that's the best we're going to get out of him."

"I think we should've pushed him harder," Sam growled as he fell back onto the bed next to Ruby, "We got nothing."

"We got something, Sam," Bobby insisted, "We know his weapon is some place he's been. We just don't know which place. What do we know about his movements?"

"We know he hasn't left this town since he was let out of Hell," I voiced helpfully, my hopefulness sadly fake.

"So it's somewhere in these god forsaken city limits-"

"Unless he wants everyone to think it's here when it's really in China," I finished for Ruby, "Yeah, we've narrowed it down."

"Well, we ain't gettin' to China anytime soon, so let's assume it's here – he wouldn't want to take the risk, probably. We'll search this town inside out looking for something supernatural; _anything_ supernatural. Or that looks like a sword, for that matter."

For a second, for some reason, my mind flashed to a memory, and I interrupted Bobby's dolling out of parts of the town to search, "Hey, guys, Pruslas said that Astaroth couldn't get into… wherever it was, right?"

Bobby looked at me oddly, but it was Sam who answered, "Yeah."

And in my gut, I _knew_ where that sword was. My stomach jumped into my throat, and I'll forever blame my certainty on my Slayer instincts, and I nearly jumped off the bureau. **Nearly.** But reality hit, and I started to doubt myself.

If I run off and check it out, and I'm _wrong,_ then I'm wasting my time and screwing up whatever system Bobby's making up. And time is definitely one of those things that is of the essence in this situation. I've got, what, eighteen hours? Do I really want to make it seventeen.

"Carrie, I think we'll send you to the opposite side of town, since we don't want Dean seeing you-" And that did it. I knew I had to go and check it out _immediately_. Especially if Bobby's not going to send anyone over there.

Sam's keys were on top of the TV, and I'd grabbed them and was out the door before anyone realized I'd moved. I didn't pause in the parking lot, or to try and think of where to go. Instinct drove me to this, and instinct can get me lost for all I care. I've just got to go.

The only moment that I stopped to marvel at myself was just before I stepped into the Impala. The _baby._ I'm about to steal Dean's baby. Moreover, I'm going to steal it to go see if I have what it takes to save his soul, which he kicked me out of his room and out of his life to do.

But really, none of the rest of it fazed me. Just the part where I'm stealing the Impala.

"Carrie," Sam called as he stumbled out of the motel room, and that was all the time I had. I dove into the car and took off, praying that I didn't hit anything on the way, or that instinct didn't somehow drive me into a tree. Despite my reassurances to Dean, I'm not always the best driver. And, well, if I end up saving Dean's ass, I don't want to have to die because I scratched his paint while doing so.

With a few deep, shuddering breaths, the reality of my stealing the Impala faded away and the reality that I could be wrong and therefore ruing our chances of saving Dean, which I consider to be killing Dean, set in.

* * *

Dean took a deep breath as he awoke to his last day alive. With a strange kind of resignation floating through his mind, Dean couldn't say that he was terribly sad. Sure, he didn't want to go to hell, and yeah, he'd miss Carrie and Sam and Bobby, but he'd be done with hunting. No more nights sitting up because you thought you saw a ghost in the closet earlier; no more sleepless nights trying to figure out how to save an innocent person from some nameless villain. He'd be… free.

Yawning, then, Dean turned onto his side to face Sammy, his brow furrowing when all he saw was a bed in the same exact condition it had been last night when Dean fell asleep – neatly made with the comforter wrapped around the pillow in that magical way only maids could achieve.

"Sam," Dean called sleepily, rubbing his eyes before focusing on the clock. Ten AM on the dot. Stretching his back and flinching at the sound of it cracking, he stood and stumbled towards the bathroom, squinting to make up for the lack of light. The door was open, and so Dean fell back onto the bed and crawled towards the bedside table, where his phone was charging.

Sam's speed dial was second, and within moments Sam answered, "Uh, hey, Dean."

"Sammy," Dean grunted, "Where are you?"

"I'm with… Bobby and Ruby."

And just like that, Dean was awake. He sat up in bed, his charm flopping uselessly against his chest, "What?"

"I'm with Bobby and Ruby, Dean." And all the implications flew into Dean's head, leaving him to scream curses.

"I told you not to! Damn it, Sammy, did Carrie put you up to this?" The words were the only things that weren't jibberish, and Sam jumped on the question thankfully.

"I put Carrie up to this."

"Put her on the phone," Dean ordered, ignoring completely what Sammy had said. It had to be Carrie – it didn't make sense for it to be anyone else.

"Carrie left about four hours ago; we don't know where she is." Dean cursed again before demanding an answer.

"Where was she going?"

"She was going to find what we need to save you, Dean, and then… probably after the demon who has your contract.

Dean muttered a 'damn it Carrie' before standing to shove on his jeans, "Where is the demon? I'll head her off."

"We don't know, Dean. We can't find him."

"Scry for him."

"He won't show up," Sam told his brother as Dean looked around for a shirt, "And she has the Impala."

Dean froze midway through pulling the shirt he'd finally found up his arm before shutting his phone angrily, "Son of a bitch."

You will be the death of me; you will be the death of me  
Bury it, I won't let you bury it, I won't let you murder it, I won't let you smother it  
Well our time is running out, our time is running out  
You can't push it underground, you can't stop it screaming out  
I wanted freedom - bound and restricted  
I tried to give you up but I'm addicted  
Now that you know I'm trapped, sense of elation  
You'd never dream of breaking this fixation  
You will squeeze the life out of me


	37. I Shot the Preacher

I'm definately drawing the ending out way too long, but I'm not really willing to finish this story. I mean, yeah, after this there is going to be an awesome sequel, but that won't be as fun to write. Trust me, I know what's going to happen, and it's not nearly as fun.

Anyway, sorry this is late - I feel horrible, because I got the sweetest message about this story, and I was convinced I would get it up on time, but that... fell through. In turn, there is a new video up. It's actually my favorite ever. So just go and search 'lovincopperpot tears of an angel' on youtube. Love you guys.

* * *

I sighed as I felt my knuckles squeeze around the steering wheel, the Impala carefully parked in the back lot of the building, out of sight of everything. _It has to be here,_ I told myself sternly, the shadow of the cross slanting along the hood of Dean's baby. _Nothing else would make sense._ _I wouldn't be so attracted to it – I'd barely care about it if there wasn't something powerful about this place._

Strip Astaroth of all his power so he can't take Dean's soul for at least a few hundred years. I feel like it's an idea that should have occurred to me before – it should've occurred to someone. Maybe it did, and it won't work. Pruslas is very likely to have been lying; it made more sense for him to have been lying. I mean, isn't Astaroth his boss? Does Pruslas not like his pay, or does he want more holidays? What?

I actually screamed as something scratched at the driver side door, just at my feet. The horn honked as my arms flailed wildly, and it took me a second before I threw the door open to see Phantom, his face looking long and hurt as he backed away from the car.

My brow furrowing, I looked around, and when I saw him my heart stopped. The Trickster. He was leaning against the church in a very devil-may-care matter. Ironically, the devil very well may care about what the Trickster, but I don't think he'd mind. With a reassuring smirk and a wink, he disappeared, and I forced air into my lungs.

Is that supposed to be a sign that I'm doing this right? Does the Trickster know this is going to work? Why isn't he telling me that this is all right?

I had to shut my eyes and take a deep breath, suppressing a very badly-timed giggle as Phantom rubbed his whiskers across the back of my hand. Opening my eyes and smirking down at him, Phantom backed into a sit and whined as he looked between the church at me.

_Now, is __**that**__ a sign?_ I don't know why I'm suddenly caring about signs and cosmic interference. The cosmic interferes more with my life than anything else, to the point that I'm not always sure why things really happen. So maybe I should have that attitude right now – if I'm wrong, then so what?

But still, I can't shake that feeling that if I'm wrong, I've let someone who isn't just an innocent die, but someone who protects the innocents. It's like letting Hercules die, or some other hero. And that just… wouldn't work out with me. This fight is hard enough without us watching out for each other.

_If I'm wrong, I mine as well go find out so I have at least a little time to try and figure something else out,_ I reasoned, and I nodded to myself, slamming the Impala's door shut and flinching at the sun. I had… fourteen hours and counting. I'll say thirteen – give myself a handicap. I mean, twelve. Thirteen seems like a bad idea.

As I moved towards the church that had worked out so well for me last night, I reviewed everything I knew about the weapon in my head – it's a sword, and it's in the basement. I mean, that should narrow it down, right? I mean, how many basements can they have down there, and how many swords just laying around?

With a deep breath, I raised a hand, but then thought better of it. Instead I just patted my back pocket, where Ruby's knife was still sticking out. My T-shirt, which was appropriate enough for the heat that was sweltering around but horrible to hide the fact that I'm packing a demon-knife while I walk into a church that sports a demon-sword.

You know, sometimes when I actually think things out, I'm forced to accept how weird my life is.

Closing my fingers around the metal of the doorknob, I slunk into the church, not knowing why I was being so secretive. The pastor, father dude knows me, and likes me. I could probably just ask him where the sword was, and he would skip back with it to me. There could even be muffins involved.

I ducked behind a desk – did I find my way into his office? Who has a door ready for escape in the back of their office that is not involved in a sketchy activity?

What am I talking about – the guy is a Catholic priest. He's, like, mandated by God to be amazing and, therefore, not involved in a sketchy activity.

Next to me, Phantom crept, looking much more natural than I probably did. We froze simultaneously, and I considered again why I didn't just walk in and ask. Still, I took a quiet breath, my eyes widening when I heard footsteps, followed by Phantom's deep, menacing growl and his tail becoming akin to a rod.

I tried to process what this meant, but before I'd fully developed the thought the door opened. The preacher's voice, while still smooth and comforting, was deeper than I remembered. The sound of his voice echoed in the small room, sounding much more inhuman than he had in the wide, open space of the church. Or maybe that's just my imagination.

I hissed at Pappy to be quiet before I stopped to merely listen, trying to figure out where he was in the room. It probably would help if I knew what furniture was in the room, but I can assume. A couch, probably pushed against a wall; a lot of bookshelves, but again against the wall. The most I have to worry about are oddly-placed statues and chairs for whoever he plans on counseling.

_This dog better not be wrong,_ I thought to myself as I tensed, preparing to jump the 'priest' and stab him somewhere that wouldn't kill him but at the same time would send the demon back to hell before he had a chance to tell Astaroth what was happening at his church. I realize, now, that despite how safe this place feels, and however much holy water is in it, this place is Azazel's church now.

Taking one final deep breath, I decided that the demon standing somewhat next to the desk was as good an opportunity I was going to get, even if he was on the phone with who knows who. And so taking a step forward and spinning, I managed to… wrap an arm around the priest's neck, nearly stabbing myself in the process. Maybe I should get my hearing checked.

"Where's the sword, scumbag?" Can you believe that people say I'm a people person?

For a second, the demon struggled, but the struggle was quickly replaced with a dry, amused wheeze, "He knows you're here, Slayer. He's hunting for you as we speak. I won't leave this church; it's the last safe haven on earth for you now."

"Where's the sword? Did you hide it?" Why isn't he cooperating like Pruslas? Pruslas would sell me Azazel's soul on a silver platter if we'd gotten him in this position.

"Oh, it's here alright, Slayer. You can feel it." The last words weren't wheezed as much as they were hissed, and the demon followed it up with a violent turn that threw me straight into the desk. I took a sharp breath in pain, but quickly ignored it as I brought my leg up into a kick, my toes catching the demon square in the jaw.

Flinching, I flexed the toes as the demon came at me and I, desperate to live and save Dean, stabbed the priest in the thigh as he ran at me again with red, demonic eyes. Those eyes quickly faded to black before regaining a more natural hazel-gold coloring.

Black smoke filled the room for an instant before the demon was gone; now the key question is where did they hide the sword? _Mine as well start in the basement. Not like anyone can tell me it's off limits._ The man, the priest whom the demon had possessed, was already dead; I could tell because Phantom didn't even growl at the man when we walked passed. Every bit of essence he'd had left his body the moment I killed that demon.

Sighing and looking around the room, I decided quickly that there was no way into a basement, and walked through the miniature stone archway and into the actual parts off the church itself. Looking up and down the hallway, I was reminded of one of those never-ending hallways that you have to walk through in funhouses. Moreover, every single space on the walls were taken up by doorways; none of them were marked or distinguished in any way.

Phantom whined, but I just rolled my eyes at him and started on the first door. Nothing – just an extra bedroom for the bishop, or whoever it is who would think to stay. Phantom set off, his nose working at amazing speed as he trotted around, trying to catch a scent.

Of course, by the time he'd trotted around the church and only found a few cold spots, I'd checked every door in the hallway and was left extremely disappointed. Keeping my proverbial fingers crossed, I headed towards the one part of the hallway that led anywhere, and was severely disappointed. Where the congregation should have been stared back at me sadly, as if I should have an audience.

_So where's the damn basement?_ It made sense for them to have boarded it off, but then how was I going to find it? Every bit of this church was made of red-brick, which isn't exactly easy-listening material. It would take me an hour at least just to be sure I was through this hallway. And I just don't have that kind of time.

A more logical plan entered my mind – if I could find the blueprints of the church, I could see where the entrance to the basement should have been. Of course, that leaves me the problem of how to get the blueprints….

God, I'm stupid.

With sickening ease, I flipped out my phone and hit a speed dial, pushing it up to my ear, "Princess' flow shop, how m-"

"Carden Adair; put me through to Research Specialist 34892." There was a pause before I heard the phone pick up and, deciding to be rude, I cut off the woman, "Unicorn made of chocolate. I need you to see if you have a blueprint for me right away."

The woman sighed, "You can never just want to know anything easy, can you?" I paused until she asked the appropriate question, "Blueprint of what – I'll look it up in the archives."

I stood in the hallway for a moment, at a loss when I realized I didn't know the address of the church. _Well, duh,_ I figured, walking back through the first doorway and picking up the mail I figured would be on the priest's desk, "336 Titanic Drive in Monroe City, Miss-"

"Missouri – I told you not to go there."

"I'm not here for Astaroth," I defended as I heard her chair scraping against the wooden floor. I'm not even lying, not really; I'm here for Dean. If another demon had his contract, I'd go after them.

"Whatever; we've got a blueprint for it."

"Where is the entrance to the original basement," I questioned, not believing that any form of luck was on my side.

"At the front of the congregation, on the left wall when you walk in." I bit my lip – where exactly was she considering the front?

"Alright, thanks." I hung up the phone and stared at the wall, trying to figure out what Dean might have that would break brick.


	38. Jasey Rae

_I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar  
I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire  
I never lit a match with intent to start a fire  
But recently the flames are getting out of control  
Call me a name, kill me with words, forget about me, it's what I deserve  
I was your chance to get out of this town  
But I ditched the car and left you to wait outside_

Jasey Rae by All Time Low

So many good parts that correspond with so much of this story. And I didn't even realize it until just before I came to post this.

* * *

I gulped as I sat in the library, racking my brain for where Astaroth would be hiding. Just a few feet to my left, the librarian was flittering around, looking over her shoulder to try and figure out what I was doing. After all, I'd just spent two and a half hours breaking down a brick wall, and another half hour trying to find this library. Dean has eleven hours left, but I have the sword in my trunk. I just need to find Astaroth and stab him in the… someplace. Head, chest, something. Once I win the fight, I can just stab him in every part of his body.

Yeah, I'm not factoring in failure. Sure, he's a crazy strong demon, but I'm a good person at heart. I win in the movies.

I sighed, then, looking down at the list I'd made of possible places he could hold up – I figure he's either somewhere hidden in the woods, or he's in a cave of some sort, or he's some town leader. I could scry, but I'd have to call Bobby and find out, and I don't think he would be alright with that. I could also call my Research Specialist, but she might kill me.

So instead I'm trying to make a list; this list has honestly narrowed it down to… everything. Because Astaroth could also have decided to just be a normal person so that he blends in and can keep an eye on his sword. I don't know the way he thinks. I don't **want** to know the way he thinks.

The best idea I've had is to look through the newspapers around the time the Devil's Gate opened and see if anything weird or spooky happened inexplicably. I'm reading every bit of this mindless local paper, including the Op-Eds, the letters to the Editor, and the comics. Anything to give me a bit of a direction.

_CEO goes missing._ For a moment, I perked. Then I skipped forward a few days, and felt myself deflate, _CEO Found in Roadside Motel._ Why do all the CEOs around here have mad affairs?

_Charitable Donation Takes Town by Surprise._ My eyes crossed slightly at the headline on the next day, exactly two days after the Devil's Gate was opened. Blinking in an attempt to focus them, I read the most promising thing I'd read all day. Apparently, a middle-aged widow donated all his money and his property to the local Catholic church and was last seen heading into the woods with his old pick-up truck and his tools.

I printed out the article, and let it fall on top of the twelve other possibilities. There was also an ad for a psychic and a coupon for lunch at a diner. What? I'm hungry…

* * *

Dean cursed as he drove around town in the nearly broken-down pick-up truck Bobby had driven here; nearly midday and Carden wasn't anywhere in this god forsaken town. Certain that he knew what his ex-girlfriend was doing, Dean had also taken to calling Sam every few minutes, to make sure his brother was still alive.

It was on one of these calls that Dean found enough courage to ask the question he'd been dreading. After a few seconds of checking in, Dean asked, "Sam, why do you think she did it?" Asking Sam this was one among the most humiliating things he'd done, but at the same time he couldn't figure it out. "I mean, think about everything we've done to each other. Why would she risk everything to save my soul?"

Sam sighed, "Guess she sees something in you, Dean. We all do."

"Dude, I'm just a-"

"Doesn't matter. She saw something in you, Dean; something she saw worth saving," Sam cut off his brother's 'modest' response. "You can't really question that."

Dean's lips almost pursed into a pout, "Yeah I can."

"Well, don't Dean; she knows what she's doing. She can save you."

"Maybe I'm not supposed to be saved, though, Sammy," Dean nearly growled into the phone, "Maybe I was supposed to die back when Dad saved me; may-"

"Dean," Sam cut off his brother, and Dean sniffed at the interruption of his thoughts.

"I just… I don't know, Sam. I just wish none of you had done this."

"Well, we did, Dean. Deal with it."

* * *

Four hours and the only place left in this town that I haven't checked is the bloody woods. With seven hours left, it's just starting to get the tiniest bit dark, but I'm not nervous. This dude who donated all his money to the church is the only lead I have left; if it's not him, then I'll… I'll give in and call Sam. I'll even work with Ruby, if that's what this comes down to. But that's not going to happen – this is him. This… Trevor Gabriells. He's a demon.

Phantom had taken the role of Sam in the front seat of the Impala, which miraculously I'd been able to slip around Dean and the rest of the gang all day. His head was resting lazily against the door, his body mystically contorted so that he somehow fit in a small ball on the seat. And to think – that contorted sack of bones is my only hope to find Astaroth.

I shivered unseasonably as my gaze turned back to the woods; they didn't look particularly ominous. Sure, it got dark and thick around the back, but for quite a while the trees were evenly spaced apart, letting the sun shine down through the branches.

This is the part I haven't really planned out at all; the best idea I have is to let Phantom kind of just… run wild. Eventually he has to catch some sort of scent, right? Logic dictates that if there is a demon in these woods, he will eventually find them. Sure, it might take… a few hours. A few hours which I really don't have to spare. Then again, if I'm wrong with this do I really have time to pursue other leads?

I took one more sigh before throwing the car door open hazardously, whistling for Phantom to jump over and out the driver's side door. After a few wasted moments of stretching, he jumped and landed easily on the ground, yawning up at me. Like he has anything to be tired about.

Trying to find the strength to swallow, I instead knelt down to pet at Phantom's head for a few minutes, and his tail wagged in response. "Hey, boy," I greeted gently. I feel bad, sending him on a wild goose chase. But then again, I don't have the time to feel bad. I've got enough time to grab the sword from the trunk and tell him to track.

And that's just what I did – I grabbed the sword, plus some extra ammo, from the trunk and said in a firm, clear voice, "Track." You know what that dog did, though? He just looked at me. He didn't have anything to track – I needed to find the scent for him first, and apparently there was no scent around here.

Sighing, I stepped forward and snapped my fingers, Phantom appearing nearly immediately at my side as he followed, nose pushed happily into the forest floor. Thank the lord he's a hound – he smells everything he can get at anyway. Eventually he should be able to catch some scent. Eventually.

_And eventually Sam will forgive me for letting Dean die._ The idea of Dean dying was more disturbing than Sam being mad at me about it, for obvious reasons. Dean was… he couldn't die. It just didn't feel right; I didn't agree with the prediction. And as long as I'm dealing in absolutes, like I'm dealing with the absolute of me winning in a fight against Astaroth, I mine as well deal with the absolute that what I want goes. After all, if I lose, then I'm not getting what I want, right? So either it's completely true or completely false. I'm thinking true.

Any anyway, if Dean dies, the world is going to end. I mean, what sense of justice would there be in Dean's dying? He's... no. No. I refuse to believe it will happen. I prayed, damn it.

* * *

"Bullshit," Dean cursed, slapping his fist against the borderline-decrepit steering wheel of Bobby's truck. He'd promised himself during the middle of the day that he wouldn't ask about the scrying again, but this was getting to be ridiculous. There was only so much time left, and he would not die knowing that his car was in the hands of Carden. He wouldn't die letting Carden think that what she was doing was alright. It wasn't. She was going against everything Dean stood for, everything he'd asked of her. But she just refused to let him die peacefully.

With a very tense jaw, Dean snapped his cell phone open with such a force that it nearly cracked. Sam opened on the fourth ring, and it was only on the third that it occurred to Dean that he hadn't called in nearly ten minutes – ample time for a Hell Hound attack. But Sam answered, and Dean managed to find the strength to breathe again, "Give me something, Sammy."

"Astaroth is a tricky demon to find, Dean," Bobby's voice responded.

Dean's automatic response was to growl, "Where's Sam?" Not that he wasn't happy to hear Bobby's voice, he was just… worried about Sam's life. Extensively.

"Sam's fine; we should be worrying about you. Astaroth keeps moving around; I doubt Carrie's found him," Bobby offered.

"Well, where's Carden?"

"Can't be scried; Lord knows what she's got on, but she's damn un-findable." Dean groaned, his head falling back against the torn headrest.

"Give me something to work with here, Bobby."

"I'm trying, Dean, but I can't get anything done with you calling every five minutes. You do your part; we'll do ours."

* * *

I bit my lip as I walked through the woods, faithfully following Phantom's nose. I shouldn't really be walking alone– it gives me time to reflect and think about the good times I had with Dean. Sure, I had all of a week of actual dating, but I even miss our childish bickering at this point. He was… he was such an asshole; we had so much fun.

This all started, in all seriousness, when I cut my leg on a thorn and looked down to see my tattoo. At first, it shocked me – I'd mostly been wearing long jeans since breaking up with Dean specifically so I didn't have to look at the tattoo; now it was bleeding from the front tooth and rather itchy. I shouldn't have bothered with these weird sweat-capris. They're… bad news.

And now it's back to the good times with Dean – the Boardwalk, the Fourth of July, and that one week when he actually knew what it was like to be a boyfriend. Those times were, hands down, the best times I've had… ever. Not even just with things related to the supernatural, but to do with anything, to do with **nothing.** Just the simple memory of Sam and Dean laughing and signing along, very badly, to AC/DC on the way out of Bucks County was enough to make me tear up.

So what do I do if I fail on both accounts? What if in the process of fighting Astaroth, I somehow manage to get both Sam and Dean killed? They're… they're really all I have left. Them and my family. How would I feel knowing I let them die? I… I couldn't take it. I'm not even sure it would be worth it to try. Then again, I don't have to worry about suicide if Astaroth kills me.

But I was cut off from whatever realization might have eventually come – Phantom leaned his head back as he bayed for a few moments before turning sharply to the right and trotting off at a light-joggers pace for me; in a few more moments, I found that the forest floor was suddenly burned, leaving a straight path in front of me.

Certain beyond any reason that this was what I'd been looking for, I whistled for Phantom, who very begrudgingly dropped the trail and returned to my side. I patted his head carefully – alright; I have Phantom too.


	39. Save You, I'll Save You

I'm very sorry to say, my dear readers, that I won't be updating next week. It's exam week for my end-of-term, and for the first time in my life I'm legit-failing two classes.

* * *

Sometime, right around when it was actually starting to get a little dark, I started to run. Phantom yipped at the thrill of the hunt, but all I could think about was how the beat of my heart was measuring time. Of course, the faster I ran the faster my heart would beat, so the faster I thought time was passing, and so I pushed myself to run even faster. It was a vicious cycle.

Phantom freezing and sudden growling hinted that something was wrong, and I reached towards my back-pocket for Brady. Instead all I could find was Ruby's knife, but I didn't have time to stop and think about what I'd done with my most trustworthy weapon when I made out two dark, large shapes in front of me. Lord knew what they were, but I assumed guards of some sort.

Not pausing to think, and feeling more confident with Phantom by my side, I angled the knife about my head and slit one demon's throat as I ran passed. The other grabbed me, and I used the momentum to swing my body around and stab him in whatever was there – in this case I'd arced my arm too much and stabbed him in the back.

But my heart was still beating at an alarming speed, and so I didn't stop, instead pushing off the body and sprinting forward, Phantom still baying at my side. Let them know I'm coming –if Astaroth thinks that Dean is going to die without a fight, then he's got another thing coming.

There were another four pairs of guards before the house had even come into view, and I used the information to draw conclusions about Astaroth. He was careful, that was for sure. He was obviously more powerful than the school had thought if his following was as devout as these demons were. Of course, none of them seemed especially powerful; hell, I'm not taking the time to even make sure that these things are demons, or that I'm actually killing them. The school would have a fit if it saw what I was doing. It was sloppy. It could get me killed. But their way took too long – it would get Dean killed. And that wasn't a risk I was about to take.

The house was more of a small, wooden castle, which looked odd and angular in the shadows of twilight. Of course, they probably would've looked odder during the day. More over, I'm biased against anything Astaroth does, says, or thinks simply because he's a demon – it's even worse thought because he's the demon who wants Dean's soul at midnight tonight.

But still, looks weird.

Between my seeing the house and actually reaching the house, there were another three guard-pairs a threatening looking ditch that I jumped, not thinking about what would happen if I didn't make it to the other side. Hit the ground and keep moving.

* * *

Dean groaned as he looked at his cell phone, the red-blinking light teasing him with how fast it was moving through the woods that surrounded this hick town. He'd finally figured out how to turn on Carden's GPS, but it wasn't helping any. What could she be running from so fast? If she wanted to save his life and kill Sam, she still had another five hours.

Swallowing thickly passed the thought that in five hours he would be dragged down to hell and live through an eternity of torture before eventually he returning to earth as a demon, Dean instead looked around at the map of the woods, trying to figure out where Carden was heading in them. She was following a fairly direct path that led, ultimately, to nowhere in particular. At least, nowhere that Dean could tell. No houses, no mountains, no rock faces. Hell, Dean couldn't even find a meadow where Astaroth might be hiding.

Dean jumped at the sound of his phone ringing before snatching it out of his pocket, sliding it open, "Give me something, Sammy."

"I went to the library to check and see if anyone weird had been by – Carden was here; I found a list of things she probably printed out."

"What did you get?" Honestly, Dean was too frustrated to mind being impatient. He had five hours to live, after all. And he was spending those five hours looking for his psycho ex.

"A bunch of newspaper listings about weird happenings – you said she went to the woods?"

"Yeah, she's running around in there like a mad woman." Dean checked his cell phone one last time, just to be completely sure.

"Then she's looking for this guy – Trevor Gabriells. He donated his property to the catholic church and left to live life as a hermit in the woods." And how would this help them? "He was last spotted around the center of the forest by a few hunters. He allegedly threw a tree at them and told them to leave."

"Sounds like one cranky demon – around the center of the woods?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks," Dean replied, sliding the phone shut and tracing Carden approximate path with his finger along the map until he reached the center of the woods. She was on a direct course.

Dean crumpled the map in his hand and looked up and down the deserted highway, figuring if he drove a couple more miles up the road he'd be able to make a straight shot up a hunter's trail and get to Astaroth before Carden did.

* * *

Having actually reached the house, sense started to take over and it occurred to me that I couldn't just barge in there and slash wildly. I had to plan – I had to _think._ Astaroth obviously is very paranoid about his defense; he's probably got nothing short of a rolling boulder in there, ready to take out righteous little Slayers trying to save their jerk ex-boyfriends from certain death. The question, then, is how do I do this so that I don't get caught in one of those traps?

_I could always just find a window and jump through it; the castle isn't that big – chances are I'll be pretty close._ Then again, that could very possibly end in a very quick and yet painful death. Lord knows what all he's got in there, and it's all probably faster than me. And that's just not a risk I'm willing to take.

_Whatever it is, it has to be quick; I don't even know what time it is, but it's almost completely dark. At least I've got some cover._ I shrugged to myself, digging my nails carefully into Phantom's collar as the other flicked around Ruby's knife. If I were distracted, this would be the time when I would wonder when I'm going to give this back to her, or if I even want to. I did lose Brady.

I shook the thought from my head, _So much for not being distracted._ Sudden fatigue catching up with me, I yawned and pressed my hand to my mouth to cover it, the knife slicing through a plant easily on the way up. Sharp.

I considered pulling the sword from its holster on my belt, to test how sharp it was, but decided against it. After all, I've really got more important things to think about.

Suddenly, I heard a crash at the back of the house, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T FIND IT? HOW DOES SOMEONE KILL HALF THE GUARD AND NO ONE NOTICES?" Guess he found out about the whole murder spree I went on. I'd say that it was my bad, but really I don't feel bad. "LEAVE! OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

After a few moments, the door in front of the castle flew open, followed by people hurrying out and crashing through the bushes.

Now, this could very well be a trap, but then again I think it's a safer risk to run at the guy who is suddenly mostly-alone in a house rather than wait for it to fill back up again. Then again, just because it isn't filled with demons doesn't mean it isn't filled with traps. Jumping through a window still might be the best way to go.

* * *

Dean growled as he thrashed through the undergrowth, slashing at it madly with the map until he stumbled onto a strikingly straight path that was almost burned into the ground. Upon reaching the trail, Dean froze, his eyes travelling over the map desperately in an attempt to find what trail he'd manage to find.

_The one Carden was using,_ Dean realized with a jolt, letting his flashlight fall to his side. As if to confirm what Dean was honestly scared of, something flashed a few steps to his left, and Dean leaned over to pick it up. Brady – Carden's damn pocket knife. Using his flashlight to check both ends of the trail, Dean turned and headed right; if he wasn't completely turned around, then he was heading straight towards the center of the forest. Straight for Astaroth. But most importantly, straight for Carden.

_God, I hope she hasn't done something stupid._

* * *

_Oh God, I'm doing to die,_ the adrenaline was forcing my heart to pump faster, and in turn that meant that I could hear it that much clearer. I'd decided that I'd rather risk a booby trap in favor of the element of surprise. And now I'm heading towards the one lit room in the entire house; if he's not in this room then I'm screwed.

I tried to stay low to the ground as I crept along the darkened hallway; the door that I was heading for was cracked open just an inch, as if for the specific process of letting me know where he was. I was suspicious, and with good reason, but necessity pushed me further on, my ears perked for any source of movement behind me.

Upon reaching the door, I stood straight and pressed my back into the wall, shutting my eyes and praying for a sign that he was there, that he wasn't actually at the end of the hall and about to pounce and kill me, or worse, kill Dean. Or Sam. Or Bobby. Anyone dying because I can't stay hidden is pretty bad.

There was a slight shift of moment, and in that second I let out a sigh of relief. I'll always wonder if that somehow got me into trouble, if Astaroth managed to hear me, to hear that breath like I'd heard the simple rustling of his clothing. Whether or not he did is probably not the important part. No, what's more important is what I heard after my sigh of relief.

"Come on in – door's open."


	40. Dance with the Devil

Alright, guys; this one is finally up. Forty chapters built up to this; I hope you enjoy it. One more chapter after this, or maybe two, if I can draw it out. I'm not completely sure yet.

More importantly, this chapter is only five and a half hours late. And, since I couldnt' update for the passed two weeks, I've put up the preview for an awesome video I'm doing about ALL THREE of my stories. It's under the title 'Savin Me,' so just search 'savin me lovincopperpot' and it'll come up. Hope you like it.

* * *

Fighting a panic attack, which would be a reasonable reaction, I pushed the door the rest of the way open and took the step forward into the light. The room was made of dull, greenish-colored wood and there were a multitude of awkward, obtuse angles. I wasn't sure how the room managed to come together to form the straight outer wall that housed the window Astaroth was standing in front of, but it was.

The room was decorated Spartan-style, with nothing on the walls and only a few tables with grotesque statues of demons. Astaroth himself was currently faceless, but he was tall. Not basketball player tall, but overwhelming. Even from this distance. And he's dressed in a dark, almost black but barely red suit. His hair was gray-ish and slicked back.

There was a sucking sound and, once Astaroth turned around, I saw that it was because he was sucking at his teeth, somehow managing to twist the action into a perverse smile, "Dean, m-" His voice fell, and his beady gray eyes locked with mine. "Oh," and there was that smile. If I wanted to call it that; I don't – we'll call it an… ugly. "I can't say this was totally unexpected, Carden," Astaroth sighed, "But I must say I expected better from Dean."

"Dean has nothing to do with this. He doesn't even want me here." It's impertinent that he knows Dean has no part of this. "You can't say he's trying to weasel his way out of the deal if he has nothing to do with it."

Astaroth, who had stolen to body of a man who was about forty years old, turned, rolling his eyes, "Silly Carden, those tricks are for kids!" … Huh? "Why would I want to give up Dean's precious soul? As long as I get him when the clock strikes twelve-"

Astaroth had slowly moseyed over towards a table that showcased one large, twisted sculpture, and pulled from under it a long, thin blade. It looked like it would break, but even when I'm so nervous I want to break down and cry just from the idea of facing this demon I don't have enough blind hope to imagine that his sword will break.

"-I honestly don't care what I have to do," he turned suddenly, the blade glinting in the bland light. "I'm supposing that you have your own weapon?"

Wordlessly, and unnecessarily nervous, I pulled the sword from my belt, that supernatural chill coursing through my body and reminding me of how terrified I actually was. This fight seemed to matter so much more than any other. It wasn't the fighting for my life; I'm used to that. I guess it's because I actually care about the results, for a reason more personal than 'to save the world.' If I lose, no one else can do this. There will be no back-up slayer. Just me.

Astaroth's eyes lit up as I gripped the sword, letting it hang limply in front of me, "Where did you get that?"

"Knocked down a church wall." And may I thank the Lord that I sound confident. I shouldn't be nervous – there's no turning back. Besides, I can feel the adrenaline starting to get to me, and I want to get this fight over with. Enough talking. My legs tensing, I pulled the sword over my shoulder and slashed down in what I hoped would be a surprise attack.

While it was a surprise, I hope, his reflexes proved automatic and fast – he blocked it with a powerful shove up and an amused laugh. I stumbled backwards, my feet spread in an attempt to regain my balance. His ugly was back, "Oh, this will be fun."

* * *

Dean's sigh mixed with a growl when he finally reached the center; as luck would have it, he had been completely turned around, and it took him almost a half hour to realize it. But now he was there – he could see the light in the castle, and as far as he could tell no one had died yet. Except for the sucker guards Carden stabbed on the way here, but who would count them?

His fingers itched against his pistol, and he half-expected Carden to jump out at him and… do something. He wasn't sure what she'd do, but based on a lack of crashing and screams of pain Dean was pretty sure that Carden hadn't made it yet, even if she was at the house.

_Maybe she rethought it and decided to not risk it; maybe she grew a brain and developed logic._ Suddenly, a large, hulking shape stepped in front of the light shining from the single lit room in the castle. It was obvious that the shape wasn't Carden, and Dean took a deep breath. It probably wasn't Astaroth either, but this would… slow his progress.

Within a few seconds, Dean was surrounded by Astaroth's guards, leaving Dean to fumble for his pistol and spin around in tight circles for a few seconds, trying to figure out which bear-like demon to shoot at first. What if salt didn't work?

Dean's heart stopped when the bushed beside him rustled – was there another demon to take out, or was Carden actually about to jump **into** the middle of danger to try and save him. Because if that was the case, she was stupider than he thought. If he lived through this, he'd just die in a few hours anyway.

The thought provided Dean with a morbid sense of courage, which was forgotten when a brown/black blur jumped out of the bushes and took a defensive stand at his knees. Phantom. "Oh, come on, you've got to be kidding me."

Phantom, who at one point would have attacked Dean just as soon as the demons surrounding them, growled before leaping towards a demon's throat. Dean turned automatically, mentally resigning himself. From Sam to Sam and Carden to a dog. Some side-kick progression.

* * *

Sam's sigh was growl free as he sat at the hotel, Pruslas still stuck in the Devil's Trap and Ruby and Bobby flipping through pages of different books, hoping to find something that would help Dean and Carden. Sam's fingers scratched against the glass table-top, his eyes blurring he was so… angry. How were they so content, to sit and read while Dean and Carden could be dying?

"Aren't we going to go do something," Sam turned to Ruby, figuring it would be easier to egg her into action than Bobby. "I mean, we can't just sit here and twiddle our thumbs; we have to go help."

"Sam, we can't lose you," Ruby responded, her bluntness not totally unexpected, "So yeah, we can sit and twiddle our thumbs, because that is what is going to keep you alive."

Sam felt his nostrils flare and knew he was getting angrier, and then there was a splitting headache. The pain was familiar, but still debilitating. Flashes of images ran through Sam's head as he collapsed back into his chair, Sam's pained cry drawing the attention of both his roommates.

With a choking sound, the vision ended, and Ruby leapt out of her chair to his side, "What did you see, Sam?" Her eyes were wide, eager, but Sam didn't question her motives. She was more enthusiastic about his powers than anyone.

Sam took a few deep breaths, "I… Dean's gonna live."

* * *

I'd never felt more disgusting or exhausted than I did after just a few minutes of fighting with Astaroth. I wasn't making any progress, which was disheartening in the worst way. He laughed at me a lot, but he didn't say anything until one stereotypical moment. We were around the center of the room, and as he thrust forward and I blocked our faces were close, the swords forming an X between us.

Flashing me an ugly, he spoke to me almost completely unaffected by the fight, "Why do you care so much, Slayer?" With an easy push, Astaroth sent me flying back into one of the many strange angles, my sword flying helplessly to the right. "I mean, all the other Slayers just came at me for the hell of it. You know, they had orders, and they didn't question why not. You, on the other hand, are supposed to be in hiding from Azazel."

The entire time Astaroth was pondering over my strange existence and the fact that, unlike the other Slayers that had been sent for him, I had a brain and a real purpose, I wondered about my real purpose. I was… saving Dean. Yeah, sure, that's a purpose, but… why? He's a jerk and he smells funny and he's always off key and…

And I love him.

I'd been dancing around the truth this past month, and now it hit me. I was doing this for the same reason as Sam; I loved Dean. I love that he's outwardly a jerk but is secretly very protective and a big teddy bear; I love that he's spent his entire life royally screwing himself up, but also saving lives. I loved that he lied like it was a second language, but he never actually lied about something important. I loved that he teased me and angered me and liked the Fox and the Hound and made me convincing fake IDs and that he finally believed in Harpies and, and… and everything.

The thought was… like adrenaline, only twenty times stronger. I could feel my heart jumping around in elation but only managed to hear, in my excitement, the last few words, "Really, it's a shame to have to kill someone with so much heart and with such a reputation about her; Azazel will probably kill me for taking his lady's pleasure."

I should have been confused, but with my original, romantic realization I'd closed my eyes, and opened them to a sword in my face. I heard a door thrown open, but I ignored it. Astaroth was pulling back, his elbow jutting out and his eyes narrowing. I… I had no time, but a world to fight for. A world I finally realized; I loved Dean. And that was something to live for. Something for Dean to live for.

I felt myself move faster than should've been possible, but just as Astaroth's sword crashed into where my head should I have been I dove towards the right, landing on the sword. I flinched, knowing that after being thrown around by a Prince of Hell for a few minutes I should very well be hurting. Even if he hadn't managed to actually stab me, he'd cut my arms up and landed a few punches. And those few punches would leave bruises that I wouldn't be able to ignore.

Horrified that Astaroth would recover for the shock faster than I could react, I rolled away from the wall and grabbed the sword, letting the motion of my roll swing it up. He'd fallen to his knees when he'd attempted to stab me, so the sword lodged itself firmly into Astaroth's stomach, and a jolt of electricity ran through from my fingers, straight to my heart and then spreading around to the rest of my body.

Astaroth convulsed while the sword glowed red, hopefully from the effort of sucking his power out of him. Thunder crashed throughout the room, shaking me, and it was all too soon before the magic stopped. Could… could his power really have been stripped so quickly? Giving up, I let the sword fall onto the ground next to me while Astaroth, obviously at least shocked at being slashed in the stomach if not suddenly powerless and about to be sucked back into hell, propped himself against the wall and gasped for air.

He dropped his sword, using the hand to feel at his stomach. He pulled it away, his brow furrowing at the blood. His eyes turned red, and he locked those horrifying red eyes with mine, "You're gonna pay for that, Slayer."


	41. DropOut

Alright, guys, I'm going to start this off by admitting that this chapter is about two hundred words shorter than a normal chapter. I'm going to make up for this by having one last chapter, though, because I didn't think I could do the last part in just two hundred words, but I also had a lot of stuff to do yesterday.

So tune in next week for the LAST CHAPTER of Dance with the Devil before the next installment in the series, 'What About Now?' Info on that will come up at the end of the next chapter.

* * *

With a jolt of my stomach, I accepted the fact that I was about to die. Astaroth's eyes, glowing red, managed to make his intentions, and his determination, perfectly clear. And I was horrified, but comforted. I'd died trying to save Dean, the man I loved. I loved him.

My eyes closed, and for the second time in the past few minutes I waited for a sword to be shoved into some part of my body. But instead, there was a loud gunfire, and then the weight of a body as it fell on me. "Carden?!"

My eyes snapped open – Dean. In a matter of seconds, Phantom was at my side, licking at my face to make sure I was alive. I pushed him off me, and looked at my legs to find Astaroth, his face empty and his eyes regaining their color. Dean had… shot him. He'd saved me.

I felt his familiar, strong hands pull at my arms, dragging me out from under the demon, and a single glance told me that Dean had used the Colt. Dean had honest to God saved me. The thought was… horrifyingly perfect. At least when he died he wouldn't die angry... I think.

"Dean," his name finally fell from my lips, and I felt Dean's sigh on the top of my head as he tried to pull me up to my feet.

"Yeah, Carden, it's me." And I know it's him – he called me Carden. I didn't know how much time I had left with him, but the moment I could get my feet on the ground I spun and threw myself into his arms, burying me head into his neck.

"I tried, Dean; I tried to save you, it just didn't work. I got the sword and I shot the priest and-"

"Shh," Dean mumbled, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me closer to him. He kissed the top of my head, nuzzling into my hair and obviously worried about me, "I know you did, Carden."

"How much time do you have?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"Seven minutes." Oh God. Seven minutes. I…

"We have to get the salt, draw a Devil's Trap, something!" I tried to pull away from him, but Dean's arms were strong, and he wanted me there.

"We can't stop it, Carden; this is going to have to end." My head easily found its way back into the crook of his neck, and I shook my head as I wrapped my arms around him again. It didn't have to end, but I couldn't move, partially because Dean's hand was tangled in my hair and the other arm was tangled around my waist, but mostly because I just couldn't bring myself to.

With a shuddering breath, I asked Dean for the time again. It felt like an eternity later, but I knew it wasn't. It'd probably only been three minutes. Dean pulled his hand away from my hair, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, "Uh…"

"What?" I could sense that there was a problem and the feeling of panic spread when Dean willingly let me move away. Albeit, I didn't move far, just enough that I could see the confusion etched on his face. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"I've got… negative two minutes."

"What?!" I grabbed his cell phone from him. 12:02. It'd… worked. I guess that makes sense – the sword stripped Astaroth of all his extra powers, but it didn't necessarily have to kill him. Like the Mummy, when they make the Mummy mortal. Only… Astaroth is still going to live forever. "Oh my…"

I didn't get out the 'God' part of that sentence because, as if his not dying had broken some spell, Dean laced his hand back into my hair and kissed me. And he didn't just kiss me – he **kissed** me. My vacuum-cleaner chest returned with a vengeance, and I let myself fall into the kiss. I was kissing the man I loved, and he wasn't going to die.

My hands found their way to his chest, and just at that slight touch he groaned. His words were jumbled through the kiss, but I understood what he meant anyway. "Meh… sis… tu' was actually supposed to be, "I missed you." Then there was, "I…morry." That was, "I'm sorry."

I was lost in Dean, unsure what to do with myself but unable to respond to his nearly indecipherable mutterings with the one thing I could think to say; "I love you." What if he didn't love me back? How awkward would this be if I told him I loved him and he didn't actually love me back? It would be a moment killer, and this moment does not need to be killed. This moment is perfect. Dean's alive – he's going to live.

Of course, at that exact moment Dean's cell phone, which I'd dropped when Dean kissed me, started to buzz and sing out Metallica lyrics. Dean pulled away, eying the phone carefully before looking back at me. It was obvious he was trying to decide what to do, and I was forced to laugh at him. "Go, answer it, it's probably Sam."

Dean smiled gratefully before leaning down, flipping it open without thought, "Sam?" Dean's hand continued to pet at the small of my back as his lips twisted upwards into a lopsided, goofy smile, "Yeah, yeah-" Dean's gaze shifted from the window, where I'd seen Astaroth when I first walked in, to me, and I felt myself blushing, "She made it. He's gone."

* * *

Eerything seemed very unreal as I stood at the train station the next morning, my ticket to Philadelphia clenched unhappily in my fist. I don't… I don't want to go. Nothing about this trip, the life that I'm going to lead, seems appealing. It seems unfair and cruel. I just saved Dean, and I only get seven hours with him? With him openly admitting that he's a jackass and he was scared to hurt me by dying?

Dean and Sam had driven me here, and they were on the other side of the road, making sure I got into the train station without a demon attacking me. I could still picture them perfectly; Dean was casually leaning back against the baby, his face completely void of emotion. Sam's brow was furrowed, on the passenger side of the car and also leaning against it, watching me and watching Dean, planning how he would talk to his brother about this later.

And then, very quickly, I imagined the life that lay ahead of me; I was going to live with a new Watcher, and probably a bitch one at that, in Philadelphia. I'd have no contact with my family or any of my old friends, including Dean, Sam, and Bobby. The Slayer Protection Program.

I knew I wouldn't be happy there, even with Phantom for company but I'd be safe, my family would be safe. Everything would work out for everyone. _But I'd be safe with Dean._ The thought was inescapable, and also very, very true. But if I stayed with Dean, what would happen to my family? The school would… I don't know what they'd do, but I'm doubtful of the fact that they'd be happy with my decision to disobey their orders. They could kick me out of the program; it's not like they need me. Sure, I'm good at Slaying, but what point am I if I'm a renegade?

And then my family would be unprotected and I'd lose all my connections. But I'd be with Dean and Sam. And they've got connections… Everything inside me knew that this wouldn't work, even as I found myself stopping in front of the train station doors, completely immobile and horrified at the idea of walking in and seeing that Dean and Sam had left, their jobs done, forgetting about me before my seat was even cold.

Maybe it was the diner food, but I felt very nauseous all of the sudden. And I remembered the one thing that James, and according to last night Dean, had always liked about me – my faith. No matter what happened, I usually managed to have faith that it would turn out alright.

So why the hell shouldn't I have faith that, if I left with Dean and Sam instead of getting on the train, that it would work out? I nodded to myself, reconfirming my decision.

Who would think that after three months, I'd be choosing an obnoxious, idiotic hunter over the stability of my Slaying lifestyle?

Trying to seem nonchalant, I turned around and crossed the road, Phantom's leash held firmly in my hand, smirking up at Dean. His brow quirked just a little when I dropped my bags in front of him, "What're you doing?"

I shook my head up at him, "Call me crazy, but I can't leave. You might get yourself into more trouble." Dean took a deep breath, obviously looking into my eyes to try and see what I actually meant. Whatever he saw, he nodded, turning to Sam with the smallest of smirks on his face.

"Hey Sammy, think we can take two more?" Sam's smirk was much more obvious than his brother's, but then again Sam had always been much more open than Dean. Just one look between us told me that he knew exactly how I felt about Dean, and exactly why I was doing this. I love Dean, even if I hadn't told him last night, while he and Sammy and Bobby and I were toasting and drinking quite a bit of beer in honor of our victory.

There's time for that now, though. Dean's smirk was contagious as he looked down at me, leaning forward to place a careful, closed-lip kiss on my mouth. His hand found its way immediately to my waist, but a car zooming passed reminded me that we'd better get going. Where? Who cares, who knows? Really, I'm safer with Dean and Sam than I am hiding in Philadelphia.

Dean pulled away, glancing from side to side before leaning down and grabbing one of my three bags. I couldn't help but roll my eyes – 1/3 or a gentleman; how perfect. I grabbed the other two, Phantom's leash wrapped around my wrist unnecessarily. Dean unlocked the trunk, throwing my bag in on top of the weapons box, and I followed suit.

Phantom whined, eyeing the cars that were coming, and so I fought every urge in me that told me to make the most of whatever moment I could get. Instead I slipped onto the sidewalk and pushed Phantom into the baby, welcoming the smell of old fast food like it was home. I guess it kind of is home, now. That's nice.


	42. Song for a Friend

Alright, this update couldn't have come at a worse time. Supernatural isn't back on until January and my roommate just told me that she doesn't think Jensen Ackles is hot.

**Fun fact:** While Carden is very loosely based on Buffy, that's not why she's blonde; I saw a pattern with the girls romantically attatched to the Winchesters - Jo, Mary, and Jess; they're all blonde.

* * *

I smirked to myself as I slid in next to Dean in a semi-familiar diner, completely confident and content as he begrudgingly let me cling his hand in mine. Dean was never the holding hands kind of guy, but he accepts that when we're in a diner I feel the urge to show the waitress that he's mine; call it an overprotective urge. I just don't feel comfortable with the way waitresses tend to eye my boyfriend.

I could squeal – Dean's my boyfriend again. And I love him. I've been planning out how to tell him that I love him these past two weeks; Dean's been my boyfriend for two weeks! We've DOUBLED our previous dating span. How monumental is that?

At this point, I'm officially not a part of the Slayer Society, or whatever our technical name was. I'm a liability, and they can't afford to pay to protect me if I'm not going to agree to take their orders. Therefore, I no longer work for them, and they no longer pay Dean and Sam the salary that they were originally paid. But that's fine; Dean's teaching me to play pool, and they figure with my small, bubbly way of being I'll be great at hustling.

Dean clicked his tongue for a few minutes; I wasn't quite sure why he had decided to take me out for breakfast without Sam, but I take whatever time I can get with him anymore. Being not a part of the society makes me feel a little antsy about my impending death, or Dean's. I can't imagine either of us dying, but it's got to happen eventually. Every kind of statistic is against us – we fight ghosts, and other assorted evil.

"I feel like I've been here before, and that they don't have good pancakes." Dean's brow was furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember how this particular diner made their food.

"Our pancakes are top notch," a waitress claimed, her Southern twang squeaking and making me flinch as she bounced up to the table, her too-tight uniform stereotypically starched white. Her eyes lit up when she saw Dean, her jaw dropping in delighted shocked, "Well dear sweet Jesus, if it isn't Brian O'Funk. Never thought I'd see you 'round here again."

I snorted, partially trying to hide my jealousy but mostly amazed at the fact that this waitress really thought someone's last name was 'O'Funk.' Honestly, doesn't that scream FAKE?

Dean's eyes were blank, his smile obviously forced, "Right, hey…" His eyes shot down to her name tag so that he could check who she was. He covered up the move, though, by pulling his hand out of mine and wrapping his left arm around my shoulders, "Jenny." His eyes blinked then; he obviously remembered this girl, "_Great_ to see you again."

I could feel that tiny bit of my overprotective girlfriend side of me kicking in, and my right hand bent to intertwine with Dean's as it hung limply from my shoulder. Jenny eyed my shoulder distastefully, her eyes narrowing, "It's Lisa."

"I, uh, associate all the girls who are important to me with my dead ex-wife, Jenny." I tried not to snort, mostly because I was remembering that I should theoretically be mad that he's hitting on this girl blatantly in front of me. "No one will ever be special to me like she was." How can he blatantly lie like that? I want that talent. I'd use it for good.

My anger kept itself in check until the waitress, Lisa, skipped off with the order. Dean sighed as he settled deeper into the seat, his arm still securely wrapped around me. Then, annoyed that he'd so blatantly disrespect me, not to mention continue to keep up whatever past charades he'd had. I shrugged his arms off from around me, scooting away from him.

Dean's brow furrowed immediately, more intensely than when he'd been trying to remember the diner's reputation for pancakes. He looked adorable, but I think we're going to have to have a talk about this. Of course, I'm trusting Dean to put together what I'm so annoyed about.

"Come on, Carden, you can't actually be mad about this-"

I grunted as my cell phone cut him off. I almost thought to ask who would call me now, but then I remembered that this time holds no special significance to the rest of the world. No one I know is trying to have a serious talk with their boyfriend, probably.

It took a few seconds to fish my cell phone out from my purse, but as soon as I saw the name flashing across the screen I knew the call would take priority over the mini-argument. "Excuse me." I stood, pressing the phone to me at the same time that I stood to run out the door, "Alan?"

My family was under strict orders not to call me unless it was an emergency; as far as I knew they were looking for a new house in a new location with the new identities that had been fashioned for them before the Order of the Slayers dropped me. Needless to say I was horrified that something was happening after only two weeks.

Alan's voice was panicked, "Carrie? Carrie, I need you to get here right now! Oh my God, oh my Go-"

"Alan," I punctuated, cutting off what could be a very long freak out fest via the middle of the first triplets, "Alan, what happened?"

"They're burnt up!"

I never thought two words could be so sickeningly horrifying. I mean, I figured Dean confessing his death would be my biggest problem, or the scariest thing I'd ever heard; nothing compared to that. "Who burnt up, Alan?" My words were very careful, very slow. I was trying not to cry; I didn't even know if he was actually serious or not.

"EVERYONE! They sent me out to get breakfast and when I got back the motel was on fire!" Now I couldn't even deny who 'they' were. My family. My family was in a fire. "I don't even know how it happened – it was the first time I'd been outside all summer! And the first time I leave it's just on fire!"

"Did anyone get out? Did you call the fire department?"

"I did, I did," Alan sounded horrified, and for good reason. His next words were careful, and his tone alone told me everything I needed to know, "But Carrie, they… no one got out. The windows, they were all closed; we were in the middle of a heat wave in a motel with no air conditioning and all the windows were closed – how does that make SENSE, Carrie?"

"It doesn't," I nearly shouted at him, my voice cracking. I glanced around the diner parking lot, trying to hide the fact that tears were falling in full force down my face. This… no. It couldn't be happening; they were going to be safe. I haven't even heard from Azazel since that night with Dean! It just… no.

"Carrie, what am I going to do?" Alan's heartbroken voice brought me back into the realm of reality, where no amount of denial in the world could bring my parents, my sister, or any of my other brothers back. They were dead in a fire, stuck in a motel where all the windows were locked and apparently unbreakable.

"Wh…" I closed my eyes, accepting my duty all too easily. There was no choice in the matter and there was nothing fair about it, but Alan couldn't take care of himself on his own, much less take care of himself without being caught by one demon or another who decided he was worth it to take out. "Where are you?"

"Some place town in North Dakota; Devil's Lake, or something weird like that. We… we couldn't find any other place with affordable housing, and-"

"I'll get there by tomorrow, and then we'll get you to Philadelphia. Alright?"

"But… the…" I shook my head, trying to sound strong for the sake of my brother. I knew what he was going to ask about, and I also knew that in the end they wouldn't matter.

"We'll have the school take care of them, just get to the train station as fast as possible, alright?" My voice cracked again, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

I had to hang up at that exact second, at risk of letting my younger, my only, brother hearing me cry. It just… it wasn't possible. How could he find them that fast – he'd never even met them as a demon. How could he find them so quickly? Two weeks? Was that all it really took anymore?

Accepting what this would me for me, and what it would mean for Dean, I forced myself back into the diner, tears still openly streaming down my face. Shapes were generally blurry, but I could make Dean jumping out of his seat at the sight of me just fine. He has a very distinctive figure to me.

"Car-"

"Take me to the train station." My voice came out stereotypically weak, but I didn't have time at that moment to worry about appearances or representing my gender. My entire family save for one lonely brother, who may be dying as we speak, just burned in a motel.

"Carden, I get it, I won't hit on anymore w-"

"TAKE ME TO THE TRAIN STATION!" Silverware clattered at my outburst; everyone who hadn't been staring at the crying girl was now appalled at my outburst, labeling me instead as stereotypical. More than ever, I felt the burning urge to get out of there. I had to go take care of Alan. "Please, Dean, I'll explain in the car."

There was no need to go back to the motel; I'd taken to keeping most of my things in the Impala to save on packing time.

* * *

I took a deep, calming breath as I sat on the trunk of the Impala, two separate train tickets shoved crumpled in my fist. Two of my bags were sitting at my feet, perfect for carrying onto a train. It's like I was mentally prepared for the day I'd have to leave like this, sudden and ASAP.

Dean had been informed on everything in the car, and his first reaction was that Azazel had done it without a doubt in his mind. Of course, I didn't need to hear that. And now I'm stuck with fifteen minutes until my train leaves, drinking one last beer with Dean before I have to leave.

"Sam'll be sad that he didn't get to say goodbye, you know."

I nodded, somehow thinking my own brother was more important. Even if taking care of him ruined my life, I'd protect him; he was all I had left anymore.

"What do you want me to do with Phantom? Drive him up to Philly?"

Phantom. My Tommy. Could he live without the hunt? I shook my head, "Keep him. He…" My voice broke in spite of the fact that I'd long grown too tired to continue my crying fit. "He doesn't belong where I'm going."

"You don't belong there either."

"Dean," I groaned, wishing that he wouldn't test me this way.

"I'm just saying we could protect him, Carden, better than whatever your school could manage." I shook my head, wanting desperately to curl into a ball and never letting anything from the world in again. Seeing that I wouldn't budge on that particular subject, Dean kept on with his questioning, "What about the stuff we have of yours?"

A man talking in monotone over the intercom cut Dean off by announcing my train was due to arrive in just a few minutes. I slipped off the trunk and onto the ground, "Sell it; Lord knows you two need the money." Dean nodded, standing to block me from leaving just yet but also not looking at me. He took a long sip from his beer, and I sighed in partial annoyance and the tiniest bit of pain.

A car flew by, honking in annoyance at all the other drivers who were apparently going too slowly, and the jingle of my necklace made my heart pitter. I wanted to leave Dean something more than just my dog and a form of money. My fingers working mostly of their own accord, I reached up and unhooked my necklace, slipping James' ring from it.

Dean watched me carefully the entire time, his eyes appraising every movement I made as I reclasped my necklace and pushed it towards him, "I want you to keep this, too. I'll… I'll have no use for it in my own special purgatory. You know the whole thing about what it does and stuff, so I'll just-"

Dean's course fingers wrapped around the ring while simultaneously he leaned down to kiss me. The kiss took me by surprise, and made it definitive that I was in love with this man. Too bad I've got a brother in North Dakota to save.

I took a step backwards uncertainly, leaning down the grab my bags and push passed him into the street, "Bye, Dean."

Much like when I was first trying to leave, I paused at the door, but instead of turning and running to Dean I just looked over my shoulder at him. He still held his beer, and when we made eye contact he broke it almost immediately. Instead, he opted to wave, obviously thinking it better than whatever else had come to mind.

Great, now I get to think about that all through the twenty-six hour train-ride.

* * *

_"Well you're magic," he said, "But don't let it all go to your head  
Cause I bet if you all had it all figured out then you'd never get out of bed."  
Well no doubt of all the things that I read what he wrote me  
Is now sounding like the man I was hoping to be  
I keep on keeping it real because it keeps on getting easier you see  
He's the reason that I'm laughing, even if there's no one else  
He said, "You've got to love yourself."_

_He said, "You shouldn't mumble when you speak  
But keep your tongue up in your cheek  
And if you stumble on to something better, remember that it's humble that you seek  
You've got all the skill you need, individuality  
You got something, call it gumption, call it anything you want  
Because when you play the fool now, you're only fooling everyone else"  
You're learning to love yourself_

_There's no price to pay when you give what you take  
That's why it's easy to thank you_

_Let's say you take a break for the day and get back to the old garage  
Because life's too short anyway, but at least it's better than average  
As long as you got me and I've got you, you know we've got a lot to go around  
I'll be your friend, your other brother, another love to come and comfort you  
And I'll keep reminding, if it's the only thing I ever do  
See, I will always love you_

"Song for a Friend" by Jason Mraz

That song, in addition to "Dance with the Devil" and other assorted song on the playlist, really encompass this series for me, which is sadly over. But fear not! I'm putting up the "story" for the sequel right now so that you can all subscribe to it and be informed the first minute the first chapter comes out.

I really did love writing this series; the beginning of the next should be up within them month. I just need somet time to iron out the details.

I hope you guys loved this series as much as I did.


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